Brooklyn's Girl
by fairlies
Summary: After running away from her rich life, Bittersweet has an unfortunate run-in with Brooklyn's Finest; Spot Conlon. After Spot learns of Bittersweet's past, will he take her in or leave her on the street? Friendships,wars and the Delancy Brothers.
1. Spot Conlon

_Bittersweet_  
>by<br>_Ragmuffin_

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

_Chapter 1_

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_Your brother is the only one that can vote! He's the one that will carry the family name! So I should think that him going to college than paying for you to got to school!" _

Panting, I came to a stop. I was far away from _him_ and _his_ house now. Looking around, the streets were obnoxiously loud, the newsies trying to get their last papers sold, people rushing to get to their homes before dark, vendors yelling at children not to touch the merchandise and cobblestones clacking against the horses hooves. Stepping out of the street, I hurried to calm myself. I had run away not knowing where I was going and didn't think to bring anything with me.

I only wore the clothes on my back and a deep-set frown. Looking down at my clothes, I mused. I had left with what I was wearing, white gown with puffed elbow-length sleeves and ribbon bows, dark boots that fit snugly. I had worn an extra dress on me, just in case it was cold. But all the under-dress did was make me bulky and sluggish.

Wiping my brow, I braided my dark hair to keep it out of my face. Grumbling, I knew it looked a mess; my mother had never gotten the chance to teach me how to braid. Walking into the alley, I didn't bother to avoid the puddles in my path. I could feel my leather boots getting soiled, seeping onto my feet. Grumbling, I layed down on a dry patch of cobblestones.

The wall did my back no favors, but it got more comfortable after a while. Still I knew I wouldn't get any sleep. The gravity of what I had done hit me hard, and I could feel the familiar lump in my throat. Swallowing it back down, I tugged at my braid, willing it to stay firm on my head. Easing my self to sleep, I repeated to myself that I had done the right thing.

My sleep was restless. Every time something crawled, squeaked or moved near me, I was awoken. My eyes were getting heavy from lack of sleep and my body had no energy. If I had to run anymore, I would surely pass out from exhaustion. Training my sensitive ears on any noise, I made sure that no one other than the rats and me were in the alley. I could fight a little, but It was a bad idea to get into a fight to start with; I would surely lose.

**Click, Clack.**

Startled out of my mind, I looked around for the source of it. I must have been hearing things, but I could swear I heard footsteps. There it was again. But this time it was closing in on me. Frozen from fear, I willed my body to move. Years of practice made my footsteps light and unheard. Just to confuse anyone following me, I darted from side to side, never staying in one spot. After I had gone a good distance away, I double back and layed back down.

* * *

><p>The next morning, I wondered around town, until I found a little tailor shop. I sold my extra dress, keeping my white one. With the money I had made, I bought myself a few clothes, a satchel and a tattered but put together umbrella. Going into the dressing room, I changed quickly. Glancing into the mirror, I saw myself face to face with another girl. Her tanned skin was dirty and scratched, her face covered in grim and sweat. There were circles under her eyes from staying up late, and her lips were horribly chapped.<p>

Her messy braid went down to just above her chest, and was oily. A light forest green button up shirt hid her curves, and a brown suspenders held her faded orange plaid trousers up. Her brown boots were dirty, and left wet sploshes everywhere. Tearing my gaze from the sad scene, I pinned up my hair, and secured it with a tattered light brown newsie hat. Tucking my dress into the white bag I had bought, I wandered around to get acquainted to the place I was bond to be spending time in.

Before I knew it I had found my way to the local distribution center. If I was going to make a living, I had to do it some way. Buying twenty papers, I made my way to the market, were I tried to sell them. After selling fifteen, I Iyed some down on another newsies papers, giving them my way to find a place to eat, I counted the money I had made. Fifteen cents, only enough for a meager bowl of soup, but only if I didn't want to sell any papers tomorrow. Sighing, I resolved to not eat today.

Keeping my steps light, I felt the wind tug at my cap. Holding it to my head, I turned around to see some papers fly away. A couple of boys were walking behind me, making no attempt at hiding. Straightening my back, I doubled my pace, hoping to lose them. But their footsteps became more prominent, until they were right on my tail. Ducking into an alley, I walked on, maybe they would give up on hustling' me.

But they stayed, and cornered me into the alleyway. Looking behind me I saw boys just like them, muscly and wearing suspenders, trousers and a button down shirt. They all had newsboy hats on, and a slingshot in their hands.

Looking back ahead of me, I saw the group disperse to let a boy taller than me go in front. He had slightly tanned skin, paling against my tan. His eyes were a blue-silver, contrasting my dark chocolate ones. I could see his hairline, which revealed a part of his short cut dirty blond hair. He was wearing red suspenders and a lightly striped button down blue collared shirt, with a pair of dirty brown plaid trousers rolled up like mine. He sported a cane along with a necklace holding a key and a slingshot looped in his belt. Biting my lip, I stopped myself from thinking how poorly outnumbered I was. Maybe they just wanted to talk.

"What youse doin' sellin' papes without my consent?"

He questioned with his new york accent.

I didn't reply, instead I bit my tongue, stopping myself from getting in trouble. His eyes hardened when I hadn't replied.

"You'se can't sell papes if youse aint a newsie."

He said with a matter of fact attitude. Letting go of my tongue and lowering my voice, I spat at him,

"Yeah, what makes you think you can boss me around?"

Snickers erupted around me as if I had said something funny. A smirk graced the boy's face, as he said with pride,

"Well dat's coise Ise be the king of de brooklyn newsies. And youse bein in brooklyn an all makes me yoir king."

Smiling, I retorted,

"Just 'cause you are the king of a bunch of newsies don't make you the king of everyone in brooklyn."

I made a mental note to get out of Brooklyn. It had the worst reputation for violence. And If what I had heard was right, this kid was the infamous Spot Conlon, fearsome and proud. It was a bad idea to cross him. I never liked being in a fight, cause I was afraid to get hurt. But either way I got what I wanted, but it always felt like a lost victory.

I knew I was supposed to be afraid of him, but in an attempt to look brave, I just glared back at him. Looking back at his eyes, which had now turned a harsh silver, I saw him take a few steps towards me, his cane dragging behind, and grabbed me by the front of my shirt. Praying to god that he wouldn't notice my wrappings.

"Youse has no idea who youse are talkin to. You had better just get outta Brooklyn while you got a chance."

He sneered,

"You don't look like you'd last a day."

Narrowing my eyes in turn, I gave a loud huff. It was a bad idea to rebuke him, since I would probably get into a fight. And it didn't matter where I slept. As long I was relatively safe, I wouldn't mind leaving Brooklyn. So I swiveled on my heal, as the boys parted to let me through. After I was close to being through, I felt waves of triumph coming off Spot Conlon.

Turning around, I took a few steps forward. The smirk on his face was slowing wearing off. My mind told me to stop, and my heart was beating fast out of fear; but a I refused to look weak, my reputation for being unafraid at stake. After one more step, I sat a few foot away from Conlon, digging my feet into the ground for support. Pulling my hat down, I tauntingly whispered,

"Wanna bet?"

His face now devoid of anything except annoyance; as if I was a pest that could be easily taken care mouth pulled in a tight line, he leaped at me. Craning my head forward so it wouldn't bounce on the ground, I shut my eyes tight. _If you refuse to look at him beat the stuffing out of you, people will think your weak, _I argued with myself. After hearing a few gasps, I opened my eyes to see what was wrong. Spot Conlon was on top of me, his hands holding my elbows down and his legs in between mine. His newsies had surrounded us in a tight circle, as if eager to see a fight. Struggling to test his grip, I felt it loosen.

Pushing him off me, I hastened to swat dust off my shoulders. Reaching to pull my hat down, my hands clasped around air. That's when I had noticed that my hat had fallen off when spot pushed me to the ground, and my braid was now undone.

Pursing my lips together, I grabbed my hat and slapped it back on, this time without my hair tucked away. My anger always got the best of me, and I wished that for once I would swallow my pride and hide away in cowardice. Clenching my fists, I gritted my teeth and then spat,

"Aren't you gonna fight?"

Spot was backed away from me, his smirk now on, replacing any look of shock that would have been their. His eyes had flicked to a pleasant shade of blue that glittered. I can remember the last time I had picked a fight on purpose;

"_Since you have only disobeyed a teacher once, their is really no need to see the Principal." The secretary had assured._

"_But I must see him to speak about her." I demanded._

I had ended up breaking into tears, I had never handled a situation with an adult before. Then again, I knew I had had the upper hand.

"_You see, we were simply playing. Then we accidentally gotten our shoes wet. We were only drying our stockings and boots. Then she came and told us to put the wet clothes back on! I had seen no reason for her to tell us what to do." I explained._

"_I believe I know the rest. When she told you to put your shoes back on, you had retorted, 'I don't have to listen to you.', and she replied, 'It's a rule to listen to teachers.'. I believe what you said next was, 'Well, I'd like to see this rulebook.'."_

Authority like the secretary did not scare me, but when the principal threatened to call my father, I had burst into tears. Pulling myself away from those haunted memories, Spot, Shaking his head, he said tauntingly,

"I don't hit _little girls_."

Seething, I opened my mouth a couple of times to process what he was saying. If their was something someone could get on my nerves about, it was my short stature. I was proud of the fact that most people underestimated me when it came to my size. Regaining my will to speak, I sputtered,

"Little? Little! Look whose talking! Your not even as tall as the other boys!"

Glaring at me, his eyes flicked back to a cold silver before he spoke,

"Youse bettah watch wat youse saying goilie. I ain't got no patience for you."

Fighting to keep my comments to myself, I threw away my look of anger. Holding my hands behind my back, my expression changed dramatically. My eyes widened and became sullen, my lips formed a sad pout and my voice went small and meek.

"But you wouldn't leave me here all by my lonesome will you?"

I heard all the boy's around me shuffle. Smirking inwardly, I was happy that I had practiced this well enough over the years. It came in handy since it pulled at people's heart strings; all the boy's at my school had feared me and my silver tongue, and all the girl's had loved me because I was 'cute'. But Spot Conlon had not been deterred by my act, and simply stated,

"We'se don't take care of anyone heah in Brooklyn but ourselves."

Politley, I questioned,

"What if I became a newsie?"

Turning away from me, he said as if I was stupid,

"Darlin', goil's can't be newsies."


	2. Past Revealed

I had been dangling my feet from to docks since I had that conversation with Spot. Word must had gone around that I was a girl, because men started to stare at me for long periods of time. Shivering, I glanced out of the corner of my eye. I had followed Conlon and his band of newsies back to a boarding house. Sighing, I picked my self up and shoved my wet feet back onto my boots. Moving lithely, I walked throughout the crowd of people, and made my way to the boarding house. Opening the door, I heard it chime. The man behind the front counter looked up from papers he was reading.

"How can I help you girl?"

Staring into his pupils, I responded,

"I'm here to find a place to stay."

Shrugging as if he usually got random kids of the street asking for a room, he said,

"Boarding is three pennies a week."

Nodding I payed him an extra penny, asking,

"Is their by chance an extra room I could stay in?"

"Upstairs and on the right, don't forget to sign your name."

Writing 'goilie' onto his paper, I walked up stairs. They were very old an rickety, making noise on every step. I drilled it into my head to practice walking up and down these stair silently. Going right until their were no other rooms, I found myself in front of an oak door. Carefully opening it, I was relieved to find that it was oiled well. Inside was a simple bed, dresser and a chair. The bed was in the farthest corner, away from a drafty window, the dresser beside it. The chair had been placed next to the door.

Putting my satchel on the bed, I closed the door. To make sure no one would disturb me, since I probably lived next to hormone-crazed boys, I propped the chair underneath the doorknob, successfully locking it. Pulling of my hat, I hung it on one of the corners of the dresser. Undoing my hair, I climbed into bed and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

><p>"Wake-up!"<p>

Hand's were roughly shaking me. Swatting them away, I murmured,

"Go the Hell away."

The comfortable warmth left me as I was thrown onto the floor. Now fully awake, I grunted out of pain, rubbing my head. Opening my eyes, light slowly poured in. Standing above me was none other than Spot Conlon. Standing up, I ignored him and tryed to get back into bed. But Spot kept pushing me away. After trying more than a dozen times, I pouted and resisted the urge to scream. An amused glint made it's way into his eyes, as he exclaimed,

"I've never met a goil that eager to get back into me bed."

Exploding, I shouted in strife,

"Get the Hell out of my way Conlon! I payed for this bed fair and square!"

Crossing his arms, he simply countered,

"Yeah? Well I'se been sleepin' in this bed longer than you'se."

Exasperated, I sighed,

"It's too early to be bothering me. Why don't you just go back to your newsies?"

Annoyed, he spat,

"I am with my newsies. This is our lodging house. Only newsies live here, not rich goil's that run away from home lookin' for adventure."

Calmly, with only the slightest waver in my voice, I stated,

"Hell, Conlon. That's where the rich girl you see, had run away from. You don't even know me, much less my name. And I am a newsie. I only asked out of courtesy, to sell papers with you; cause guess what? I'm going to sell papers anyways."

Spot was quiet for a while, not looking at me, as if thinking something over. Looking back up me, he said with a confused look,

"I've seen you before."

Biting my lip, I looked away, and said to him,

"No you haven't."

I could tell he hadn't bought it, but I had only said it to assure myself more than him. _He couldn't have already alerted the authorities._

"Yeah, yeah I have. I saw you'se in a pape, not too long ago. Somethin' about the governor's daughter..."

Correcting him without thinking, I stated,

"Actually it was the ambassador's daughter."

Slapping a hand over my mouth, I saw it all dawn on Spot.

"Your that am-bastard's daughter! Ain't you supposed to be in school or somethin' here?"

Without looking at him, I said in a quiet tone,

"Actually, I'm not going to school anymore. My father had recently give me hand in marriage to the president's son."

Staring at me, Spot said slowly,

"You've got a pretty big bounty on your head."

Frighteningly, I stared into his eyes. _He would sell you out the first chance he got._ Pleading I asked,

"Don't turn me in! Please, I beg of you!"

I could feel whatever respect I had for myself diminish. Pleading did not become me, but I was desperate to not go back to my old life. Spot look down on my coldly saying,

"And why would I'se do that?"

Gathering my wits, I straightened my back and pouted out my lip, mock tears coming to my eyes,

"Father, Father! It was horrible! I was just minding my business, when... when this boy kidnapped me! He said he wanted your money! It was just so... so...!"

I said bursting into hysterical sobbing. Bowing, and blowing kisses at my invisible audience, I kept my head bowed and sneered,

"That's why."

Cold metal came in contact with my chin, forcing my head upwards to look at Spot. His knuckles were turning white from holding his gold-tipped cane too hard. His silver eyes looked dangerous and murderous. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears; he was seething mad. A humorless chuckle escaped his lips as his eyes narrowed and he asked,

"Are you threatening me?"

Biting my lip, I ripped my chin away from his grasp, replying without looking at him,

"Well, I do believe I am, sir."

Bracing myself for a slap that never came, I saw Spot run a hand through his hair before looking directly at me.

"I know I'm gonna regret this... but you can stay. But you're not aloud to speak with my boys; don't tell anyone who you are," His eyes promising pain, he spat, "And if you evah, EVAH, threaten me again, you'se gonna be on the receiving end of me fist."

Ignoring his threat, I nodded and went around him to fall back again Spot stopped me, saying,

"Where do you think your going?"

"Back to sleep."

Snorting, he said,

"You'se gotta carry the bannah. Plus you'se don't sleep heah."

Rolling my eyes, I put on my hat and asked,

"Well where do you suppose I sleep? With the hormonal boys that I'm forbidden to speak with?"

Not missing a beat Spot retorted,

"Well it's either theah or kitchen."

Knowing I was beat, I said,

"Where is the Kitchen?"


	3. Delancy Brothers

Everywhere I walked in that place, I could feel the stares of the boys around me. Jutting out my chin, I ignored them and made my way to the kitchen. It wasn't much, but Spot had a couple boy's bring in a cot for me. Nodding to show my thanks, I put my stuff down and took out a few coins. Looking outside, I noticed it was extremely sunny.

Taking out my umbrella, I opened it. Turning, I walked through the crowd of boys rather easily and made my way out the door. On my way to the distribution center, I found it increasingly harder not to look below me. Sighing, I looked down and saw a young man with a bowler hat on. His face seemed menacing with that smirk on.

"Heya sweetcheeks. What are ya doin' in Brooklyn?"

Scowling, I walked pass him and tried to ignore him once more. But I was stopped by yet another figure, this one also in a bowler hat. Turning, I saw that these boys had me cornered in an alley. Biting my lip, I closed my umbrella, brandishing it like a sword. _I wish father had let me take those fencing classes after all._

"Now that wasn't very nice. I'se just trying to be friendly." the first boy sneered.

I heard the other one behind me snicker, and I spat, trying to be brave,

"Well I'd rather not be friends with creeps like you, _no offense_."

The sarcasm dripping from my last words onto the cobblestone ground.

"Look's like we'se got a fiesty one, Oscar."

Spitting at the ground in front of the second boy, I heard Oscar say,

"Look's like we gotta teach her some manners, Morris."

Pinning me against the wall, Oscar sneered in my face,

"Where's your sharp tongue now?"

Fear crept throughout my entire body; when it came to things like this I was always scared. I berated myself for not putting up a fight. Turning my head away from his fowl breath, I cursed at him,

"Go to Hell."

A slap rang through the air, and I bit my tongue to keep from crying out. Swallowing, I fought back tears, unwilling to cry in front of these idiots. I could feel the big bruise beginning to form on my face and smiled despite myself; I always thought of scars and marks as trophies showing off my toughness. Roughly, I felt him un-clip my suspenders, and shuddered at the thought of what was about to happen to me.

In one last ounce of strength, I kneed him in the groin, and punched him in the face. Dropping to the ground, I picked up my umbrella and swung it at both of them. Unsure of what to do next, I simply punched Morris in his family jewel's and ran as fast as I could. After a couple of blocks, I ran straight into a wall, falling on my butt.

"Damn."

I sweared at myself.

"Why aren't you sellin' papes?"

Swearing again, I cursed my luck. Just the man I didn't want to see; Spot. Hearing the shouts of Oscar and Morris, I picked myself up and ran. I heard Spot shout after me. But I didn't get far; I had twisted my ankle after falling. I felt the ground give way under me as Morris pulled my feet from under me.

"Your gonna get it now goil!"

Fighting back with everything I got, I was too tired to do much damage, most of my punches missing. Morris pulled my arms behind me, causing me to grunt in pain. Seeing Oscar rear his hand back, I stared into his eyes without emotion, prepared for the pain to come. Right before the punch landed, I heard a deep voice come from behind Oscar.

"What's going on heah?"

Spot had closed in on us; embarrassment flooded my systems. He probably thought I couldn't take care of myself, and I could relatively well.

"Get outta heah Conlon. This ain't none of ya business."

Oscar hissed; but not even he could hide his fear of the King of Brooklyn.

"The Delancy brudders. You'se a long way from Manhatten."

His tone was dark, anger filled his eyes. I could practically taste a fight coming was Morris's turn to explain to Spot what was happening.

"We'se just dealin' with dis goil. No need to cause trouble."

Spot turned to the side, and asked, nonchallantly,

"Are ya now?"

Both of them nodded, as if relieved he wasn't going to hit them. Spot Suddenly faced them again, his face calm but eye's glaring; _If only looks could kill... these Delancy Brothers._

"So you'se was just gonna soak one of my newsies, while I sat around unawares?"

Their shock was all I needed to step on Morris' shoe and twist away from his grasp. Picking up my fallen umbrella, I held it like it was a sword, pointed to the sky and near each of the brothers' necks. But Spot held his hand up to stop me from soaking them, and instead took out his cane and pointed it menacingly at Oscar.

"Don't come into Brooklyn evah again." And with that he hit the brother square on the forehead, leaving a huge welt. Both of them scurried away, while I wished I could follow them. I could almost picture the scowl on Spot's face, as I stared down at my shoes. I knew I wasn't allowed to leave just yet, cause Spot still had some things to say to me. After a long silence, I began to explain,

"I could have taken them by myself."

Without looking at me, he retorted,

"I could tell you had the situation under control."

Biting my lip, I opened my umbrella and began to twirl it nervously.

"You missed the early edition, and I can't trust you to be on the streets after dark. So your done for the day. Let's go to Tibby's."

I didn't have it in me to ask what Tibby's was, but when we got there, I knew it was a restaurant.


	4. Tibby's Diner

"Hey Spot, what took ya so long? We already started to play poker!" asked a boy in a cowboy hat.

"Can't ya tell Jack? He was out with that goil next ta him!" explained an italian boy to Jack.

A kid in an eyepatch stated,

"It doesn't matter if he was late; Racetrack here has already folded and won! He should consider himself lucky, he didn't lose his money."

Racetrack playfully slapped him across the cheek, saying, "Ah, Shut up Kid!"

After Spot took a seat, he motioned for me to sit next to him. Sitting, I turned to Racetrack, the italian newsie, and stated,

"Deal me in."

"Sorry sweetheart, but I don't steal money from girls."

"If that same philosophy applied to me, I wouldn't be playing with you. Now, Deal me in."

Racetrack turned to Spot with a suprised look on his face, asking,

"Wow, Spot! Where did you get this one?"

Answering for him, I retorted,

"Same place you cards are going to be. Up your Ass."

Chuckles erupted across the table. Racetrack had a mock hurt look in his eyes, and just said,

"Whatever. Here are your cards."

After a while, it was time for us to fold. Kid went first, then Jack. Both had sad looks on their faces; they had lost. Racetrack was brimming, when he slapped down his cards and said,

"Full House! Beat that goilie!"

Not missing a beat, I put my cards down gently, saying,

"Royal Flush."

Whistles were heard as Racetrack's jaw fell and I took his money. Snickering, I said,

"Close you mouth, or else you might catch some flies."

"How did you learn how to play like that goilie?"

Smiling shyly I said,

"I play a similar game where I come from, kind of like Spanish Poker."

Bowing I said sweetly,

"But it was so much fun playing with you handsome men. I hope we can play again sometime."

"You must have been cheating!"

Blinking, I kept on my sweet facade, saying,

"I'm sorry, but I wasn't. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Racetrack murmured to himself,

"How could a little goil beat me at me own game?"

My act gone, I snapped,

"I wasn't about to lose to a little prick!"

Everyone stared at me at my sudden change of character. Finally Jack cleared his throat and said,

"Who are you?"

Spot, who had been relatively quiet the entire time said with certainty,

"Her name's Bittersweet."

* * *

><p>After a couple of hours at Tibby's, Spot and I went back to the Boarding house. Entering the kitchen, I layed down on the cot, relaxing and letting my aching muscles relax. Looking around, I sigh; <em>It appears that someone cleaned the room up for me.<em> They probably put my bag somewhere else. Looking around, I tried desperately to find it.

In a crazed tantrum, I flung cups and bowls, as if they were big enough to fit a satchel. Crying out, I exited the room and stomped my feet. Normally I would be embarrassed about having so may judgemental eyes on me, but now was not the time to mess with me. Barely able to control my again I turned around and said not-so-quietly to 'myself',

"WHO THE HELL TOOK MY BAG! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON THE INGLORIOUS BA-"

My rant was interrupted by someone throwing an object at my head. Turning around, I felt warmth creep up my face as I came face to face with my 'inglorious ba-'. Looking away from him, I pretended to be in deep thought while saying,

"Thank you."

The boy was by far taller than me, with shaggy red hair and opulent green eyes. He wore a light frown, along with a light purple shirt, and brown plaid pants. Biting my lip, I kept the facade that I was in thought up saying,

"I forget. Did Spot tell me not to speak with his newsies, or too speak with his newsies?"

They all had apparently gotten the message and went back to whatever they had been doing. It was still afternoon and I desperately needed a bath. Walking up the stairs, this time a lot more quietly, I paced around the hallway, trying to find the washroom. I stopped when I saw a tin tub and a water pump. Scowling, I looked around to see if anyone was coming up.

Ducking into the room, I quickly shed my clothes and pumped the water. Scrubbing determinedly at my hair, I washed away the grime and filth that had slowly accumulated on it. After rubbing my skin raw, I emptied the tin and pumped it full again. Relaxing in it, I felt the water soothe and loosen my muscles. Closing my eyes, I tried to process what had happened so far. Whispering to myself, I said,

"I've run away from home, dressed up as a boy, met an egotistical prick, had a close encounter with two hormonal-crazed boys, beat a Manhattan newsie at poker and swore at a boy I don't even know."

Sighing, I asked myself,

"Can life get worse?"

" I'se don't see how I'se mistaked you'se for a boy."

Gasping, I hid my chest with my hands and shut my eyes tightly saying,

"Get out SPOT!"


	5. Carrying the Banner

It is my first day of being an official newsie. And so far it's been a wreck. I had woken up late and missed break-fest from the nuns. On top of that, I had steadily been ignoring Spot, which has it's repercussions; for instance, he felt the need to describe to his newsies how I had appeared while naked. Fuming, I decided upon my revenge.

After making a pit stop at a local food stand, I went into Spot's room and rubbed butter all over his cane. It was an expensive revenge, put none the less rewarding. Spot still didn't trust me alone, so he sent a couple of his boys to follow me around. The only good thing that had happened so far, was that there was no line for papers. After buying twenty papers, I walked down to the 'uptown' of Brooklyn.

Quickly changing into my dress, after losing Spot's boys in a dressing room, I hid my clothes in my bag. Walking straight and proper, I kept my chin up and my hair neat, hoping to God that it stayed in the braided top-knot. Catcalls and whistles were thrown at me, and to seem girlish, I smiled shyly and pretended to blush.

Arriving at a fancy restaurant, I saw a group of boys sitting down. Smiling dazzlingly, I asked them if I could sit with them. They all agreed, and one pulled out a chair for me. _They are just too easy. Then again, all rich boys are around a pretty face._

Engaging them in on a discussion about the recent news, I heard them all ask silly questions, not related to the total truth. _Leave it to the rich to do your job for you._ After they had talked about everything on the paper, I pretended to look at a watch, and excused myself. Changing back into my clothes, I rushed back down to the poorer side of Brooklyn. After waiting an hour, I started selling my papers.

"Hot topic in the senate! Governor's Wife Caught With Other Man!"

A couple of people had gathered around me, some disbelieving. Then a finely dressed man walked by and heard my call. Paying a paper without looking at it, he said,

"It's true. My son just told me on his way back from dining with his friends. Everyone's talking about it, but no one knows the details."

After the rich man had approved of my lies, people swarmed me for the edition that had all of the wealthy talking. _Gossip spreads faster than the flu._ I mused to myself. After selling my papers in record time, I decided to go by the docks. Apparently Spot spent quite some time their too, since he had marched up to me and demanded to know,

"Were you'se the one that greased me cane?"

Ignoring him, I slid my boots off and dipped a toe in the water. Flinching, I concluded the water was cold, so I just shoved both my feet in it; swinging them back and forth to restore circulation. But Spot, being Spot and all, did not let the topic go.  
>"You don't just grease a man's cane!"<p>

Unable to ignore his rant, I retorted,

"You don't just walk in on a girl bathing!"

His eyes angry, he stated,

"This is different."

Scoffing, I asked,

"And what would it be that makes it different?"

"Whenever I try to pick it up, it slips away from my grasp!"

Picturing Spot humorously trying but failing to pick up his cane brought amusement to my eyes, and a chuckle to my lips. Unable to control my laughter, I doubled over and started to clutch at my sides.

"It ain't that funny."

Spot said, but I could tell that he was no longer angry.

"Yes it is!"

I exclaimed through my bouts of laughter.

An amused tone found it's way to Spot's voice as he said,

"Then you can clean it."


	6. The Library

Huffing, I sat down in the kitchen with my head in my hands. I was not allowed outside until I had finished wiping every inch of grease from Spot's golden tipped cane. If I wasn't the one washing it, I would have been proud of how well I had smeared layers of grease onto it. Knitting my brows together, I worked on the same spot I had been for the past few minutes; I hadn't made much progress.

I looked at the door that lead to the main room, and to the outside world. All the newsies had left for the afternoon edition, while Spot made me stay in my room cleaning his cane. They wouldn't be back until after they sold all their papers, which, with the exception of Spot, would take until sunset. My ears strained to hear someone come into the lodging house. Finally, I heard the door open and feet shuffle into the house. Getting up, I walked out the door and into the main room saying,

"Finally you guys are back-"

Pausing in mid sentence, I stared at the duo in front of me in shock.

"I didn't know you were so happy to see us again sweetcheeks."

Hissing, I glared at them both spitting their names like a curse.

"Delancy Brothers!"

Without hesitation, I ran back behind my door and shut it hard. My breathing became labored, and to defend myself, I wielded Spot's cane. Pushing tables and chairs onto the door, I heard the Delancys' sneer at me from the other side,

"Come on goilie, we just want to play with you'se."

Biting my lip, I looked around for an escape. Twisting around the room, I heard Oscar and Morris grunting from trying to burst the door open. My heart beating in my chest, I saw my escape; a single solitary window. Bashing his cane against the window, I silently thanked Spot. Climbing up into the low window, I glanced back to see the brothers come rushing in. Scampering out, I made it out just as Morris reached for my leg.

Rushing up, I ran down the streets and away from the boarding house. I didn't stop until I had reached the turbulent waters near the bridge that connected Manhattan and Brooklyn. Looking behind me, I was satisfied not to hear any clumsy steps following me. Looking at my hands, I could see them shaking clearly, along with little scratches bleeding here and there.

Sighing, I placed my hands at my sides and looked into the turbulent water. _How did I get here? To the way life is now. I constantly run from my phobia's. Can't I just face them?_ Peeling my eyes away from the water, I made my way to Tibby's using the back alleys. _Spot won't be happy if he sees me. I had clearly disobeyed him..._ Shaking my thoughts away I stopped suddenly. Turning I saw one of my favorite places to be, a library. Looking around, I made sure no one was watching as I confidently strutted into the library.

"Are you looking for a specific book?"

Turning, I shook my head at the older woman, who appeared to be a librarian, and said,

"I'm just looking for the recent news in the political office."

The lady gave me a weird look; I would too if a newsie was asking to look at current news. Signaling for me to follow her, we walked through the wooden maze of books, until we landed at her desk. Handing me a paper, she went back to work signing papers. Leaning against her desk, I flipped through the pages until I saw what I had been looking for.

The headline read: Ambassador's Daughter Gone Before Marriage

_The South American ambassador had recently gone to the police stating, and quote 'my daughter has been kidnapped'. The foreign family is not releasing any statements at the moment, but the police have told us that they are doing the best they can to find her. She was to be wedded the day she went missing to the president's very own son to enable a peace treaty. Some say that the president himself had her 'removed' so that when his son miraculously 'found' her, he would gain merit and further stabilize the treaty. Head Officer of Washington DC Police Department has said, "Be sure to be on the look out for a tanned and short thirteen-year old girl with curly/wavy dark brown hair and chocolate eyes. She was last seen in a expensive white dress." In other News, her brother is to attend Yale University to study the profession of a lawyer in the coming year._

Giving the paper back to the librarian, I cursed under my breath as I went back outside. I had never thought my father would go public with my disappearance. I was hoping that in his stubbornness, he would just hire a private detective to find me. But no, he had to have the police swarming to find me. I hoped that only Spot had figured out who I am, because I don't think it will abide well to threaten all of the New York newsies.

Moving to Tibby's, I saw that Racetrack and his friends were not their today; neither was Spot or his crew. _Maybe they went back to the lodging house._Still keeping my wits and Spot's cane about me, I hesitantly walked back to the lodging house. Opening the door slowly, I could hear someone yelling inside. Halfway through the door, all the boys set their eyes on me. Everyone's breathing had stopped for a second. Spot had his hand reeled back facing my door, about to knock it in. Turning to me, I immediately regretted coming back.

"Where have you'se been Bittersweet?"

Spot asked, anger invading his voice and eyes. His eyes were burning into me, making me bite my lip out of nervousness and fear. Stuttering, I said quietly, while looking at the floor,

"T-the library..."

Scoffing rudely, Spot repeated,

"The Library?"

Annoyed, my voice regained confidence, and I spat,

"Yes, the library! You know, the place where they keep books?"

Gripping his fist so tight, his skin turned white around his knuckles, he retorted,

"I know what the hell a library is woman!", pausing, he turned to his newsies and asked,

"But didn't I tell her to stay here and clean my cane?"

Neither boy answered, but Spot wasn't planning on them saying anything and just continued,

"So why, were you at the FREAKIN' LIBRARY?"

It took all my will power to ignore his line of questioning, I moved towards him and my room, gently trying to push him aside. But Spot refused to move, so I just bended around his body and kicked open my door. Before I could go inside, Spot roughly grabbed me by the arm, and hissed,

"I'm not done with you."

I don't know if it was me speaking or some sort of inner idiot, but I had managed to choke out,

"But I am with you."


	7. The Truth

The door slammed behind me, as I heard Spot enter my room. Even after I had told him that I had no intention of talking with him, he was his stubborn self and carried on anyways. Lying on my cot, I pretended not to see him, praying that he would go away; if not, I was in hot water. I turned my back to him, pretending to sleep. I had left his cane next to the door, I knew he would want it back. His hand prints had left a mark on my sun-kissed skin, bruises forming around it. He was just standing at the door, as if waiting to see who would be the one to strike first with verbal fire. Pulling myself into a sitting position, still facing away from him, I whispered,

"I left cause the Delancys' came to the lodging house will you were gone."

"I don't want you're excuses."

I could feel him walk towards me, grabbing my shoulder and turning me around. His iron grip hurt and was firm; no chance of breaking it. His eye's were a metallic silver, his mouth pulled into a dark frown. It took all my will not to shake from the close proximity. I could feel his eye's probing mine, daring me to speak.

"You'se disobeyed a direct order."

I opened my mouth to explain, but his cold stare shut me up. Wincing at his grip, I felt him loosen it, and pause. Taking the chance, I distanced myself away from him, a good dozen feet away from the cot and closer to the wall. Continuing, Spot said,

"I don't take well to people who don't listen."

He looked off into the distance, as if not seeing me; my tremors were becoming harder to control. After a pregnant pause, Spot turned back to me, his eye's like ice, his voice cold,

"Do you know what happens to people that don't listen?"

Regaining my ability to speak, I retorted,

"Do you know what happens to kidnappers in this country?"

My mouth kept running, even after the room dropped fifty degrees, not even Spot's warning glare could stop me. Continuing, I said,

"Because, I do, and the judicial system doesn't exactly care for arrogant newsie kings."

Spot advanced on me, his gaze murderous, the first time it was directed straight at me. Walking backwards at every step he took forward, I tripped over my white bag, falling on the floor. Spot kicked it out of his path, his fists looking eager to hit something.

"I thought I'se told you not to threaten me again."

"I'm not afraid of you."

Biting my lip, I knew I had gone too far. Scooting away on my butt, I felt the cold wall connect with my back. Slamming his hands on either side of me, my shivering now obvious, I fought the urge to whimper. His hot breath against me ear, he asked,

"And why not? I could easily over power you."

Turning away, I kept silent. I knew Spot could over power me, have his way with me then leave me in the streets. The fact that he could hold power over me as long as I am in New York scared the heck out of me. How could one fifteen year old boy have so much power? Even my father wasn't as menacing as Spot; he didn't inspire fear into another person every time he looked at them like Conlon could.

"Do you know why I named you Bittersweet?"

Curiosity peeked in my eyes, I just had to know. But my mouth was dry, and I could not find the words. Bringing his mouth over to my cheek, he left a trail of goosebumps as he spoke,

"Because at one moment you could be bitter and boyish,"

His chin brushed mine, and I could feel my heart about to give. I had no idea how to respond in a situation like this. _Is Spot actually going to rape me?_ Biting my lip, I prayed he wouldn't; I couldn't handle that stress.

"and the next, you could be sweet and polite,"

His mouth now hovered over mine, smirking as he finalized,

"But inside your just a scared little girl putting up a front. You hide behind you silver tongue and sharp mind. But you care what others think of you, and your afraid of the world. Your just like any other girl in this city; scared out of your mind from being so close to Spot Conlon ."

His lips crashed down on mine, my mouth went numb. His movements screamed of expertise, while I made no movements at all.I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped; he was right. I'm not brave, or tough. I keep up these acts, two opposite ones, switching as soon as someone doesn't like it. I may talk the part, but inside, I'm not. I try hard to mask my feelings, so that no one can hurt me, pretending like I don't care when others say hurtful words.

Their were only two types of girls in this city; the ones that are in love with Spot, and the ones that are afraid of him. And I knew I was the latter of the girls; Spot Conlon intimidated me with his power. My eyes went blank as I realized what Spot was trying to tell me, _Your weak._ My body went limp, the fight leaving me as I accepted that Spot was going to take me right were I sat. Bringing my empty eyes back up to Spot's, I could see myself in them; the look of defeat on my face. Without another word, Spot removed his lips from mine, smirked at me, and left the room with his cane.


	8. Thief

I had spent the entire day trying to avoid Spot. It made me mad just to think about him; how could he be so...so...so horrible! Even after I had sold my papers, I ignored him. I could tell the other newsies were antsy around me too; they knew something had gone done that night. _Why would he even do that?_ When ever the memory was brought up in my mind, I touched my lips lightly. _He had been my first kiss._ I wanted to pretend it never happened; something like that was supposed to be given to someone I loved. Not someone who was only kissing me to prove a point.

Whenever I passed the docks, I grabbed a few stones and hurled them as far as I could, pretending that every time they hit Spot's face; I know it's childish. But he made me feel worthless; he was known as a big womanizer. He went through girls faster than I went through a book. Those who loved him, soon after hated him; they were guilty by association. The worst part was that I felt like I was one of those girls; used by Conlon then thrown away.

Shivering, I looked at the change I had made; over twenty pennies. Getting up, I made my way back to the Tailor Shop I had been at my first day in Brooklyn. Buying a red plaid jacket, that was riddled with holes, I slipped it on and went back out. No doubt that winter was coming; even though I had spent nearly half my life in cold New England, I could never shake the cold. After all, I was born in sunny and warm South America. It was never a big problem, I could handle the chill; but every year it seemed to get colder. My lips were cold and numb, my fingers constantly fiddling inside the coat pockets to keep warm, and my toes felt like they were going to fall off.

My stomach started to growl, leading me to ask myself; _How long has it been since I last ate?_ I hadn't eaten in little over a day, since I had skipped lunch yesterday. I would go to Tibby's since that was where all the other newsies ate, but I wasn't about to go their for the same reason. Instead I went to the market, hoping to grab a bite. Sniffing, I felt my mouth water; fresh Italian bread was being laid out at the stall next to around, I hoped no one would notice when I took a piece.

While the baker wasn't looking, I grabbed a piece of bread and started to run. I heard the baker shout, "Thief!", and increased my pace. Shoving the bread under my shirt, I kept running until I hit another man. Getting up, I felt the person grab my arm, squeezing my bruise and ask,

"Why are you running?"

Damn. It was a bull, or policeman. Putting on a sweet smile, I replied,

"There is this mean man following me."

Right on time, the pudgy baker stopped in front of us and told the officer,

"That girl stole my bread!"

Looking shocked at his audacity, I said,

"I most certainly did not."

I could still feel the heat against my bosom from the bread. The officer, obliviously believing the baker asked me kindly to empty my pockets and take off my jacket. When he didn't find anything, the baker looked furious, repeating, "She must have eaten it!". The officer apologized to me and escorted the enraged baker away.

Sighing, I went back to the lodging house; going in from the window that led to my room. Putting my jacket to the side, I removed the bread from my shirt, and savored it's smell. Biting into it, I slowly chewed, enjoying every inch of it. Licking my fingers, I laid down on my cot, staring at my white bag. After last night, I had left everything as it was when Spot had left, and climbed into bed to cry myself to sleep. I was happy I had not met any newsies; my eyes were probably red and puffy from crying all night.

_Why don't you just go home?_ I mused while looking at my bag. _You could just put back on your dress and make up a believable story to tell everyone._ Getting up, I took my dress out of my bag and stared at it for a long time. _But then I wouldn't be free anymore._ The expectations would come back, to excel at everything I did, to look my best all time, to be _perfect_. I shook my head; I couldn't go back to that. Like my life was, the dress was tight and constricting, hanging tightly onto my curves and giving me little room to move and grow. But with my pants and collared shirt, everything was different; I could run without worrying that my bloomers would show, I could show off my scars, scabs and knees without shame and slouch without someone telling me that it is ' not lady-like'.

The life I Iive now may not be straight-cut perfect, but it was better than my last one. Biting my lip, I wish I had a good book to read. Whenever I had gotten scared or didn't want to face my life, I would indulge and lose myself in a good book; now that I think about it, I read a lot of books. _All you do is run._I flashed back to last night; I was such a coward. Burying my face in my hands, I sobbed to myself. Wiping my eyes and nose with my wrist, I spoke to the person that had entered my room not-so-stealthily.

"You forgot to that the door is creaky."

Whoever had come in had been watching me for a while. I remember the days when I would practice being light on my feet myself,

_I had slid out of my room, easily because the door had been left ajar. Keeping my toes, I tried to silence my footfalls, so that my parents did not hear me. Straining, I focused on every sound that passed; their were no other footsteps to be heard. My eyes had long adjusted to the dark; courtesy of my late night reading by dim candle light. Perspiration levels increased; the idea of being caught made adrenaline course through my veins. Since I had started sweating, I slowly and quietly lifted my bare feet, from the heal to my toes of the ground; a process that took a few seconds. I had finally reached my destination; reaching into the cupboard I stole some of my mother's delicious nut-cake._

It had been worth it; it tasted like pure bliss when I had it. Turning around, I wanted to face the newsie that had come into my room. To my relief it wasn't Spot; instead it was the auburn boy that I had sworn at.


	9. Shadow

The last week has been a blur. I had figured out that the boy's name was Shadow; given because you usually didn't know he was there until he talked to you. He complimented me on my sharp ears, to which I blushed. I've been selling the morning edition with him, and at night we would just talk about life. He was one of the greatest confidants' and friends' I had ever had; nothing like the stuck up girls that only cared about their looks. He told me that he had a family, and he was just a newsie because he was paying for medical school. He was already eighteen and ready to go, but his father had used all his savings to help his sick wife.

In turn, I told him little bits of my story, leaving out the part that I was rich and my father was an ambassador. I had already broken one of Spot's rules by just talking to Shadow, if I told him who I was, I would fear for my life. When he told me that sometimes Spot could be an idiot, I chuckled and replied "Just a little.". Life at the Lodging has had finally returned to being semi-comfortable now that I had a secret friend. I soon forgot all about Spot, happy that I was spending time with someone fun.

"Let's go to Tibby's for lunch, Bittahsweet."

Shuffling noisily, I said in a small voice,

"I don't really want to go and eat..."

Sighing deeply, he responded knowingly,

"You can't hide from him forever you know."

Shadow had confirmed my suspicions that the Brooklyn Newsies knew of the tense relationship between me and Spot; they just didn't know what happened to bring it. Pouting, I retorted stubbornly,

"I'm not hiding from him! I just don't want to see him, that's all."

I heard Shadow chuckle, to which I snapped at him,

"What's so funny?"  
>"You'se and Spot are so alike! Botha ya's are so stubborn."<p>

Gasping, I looked at him in shock. Playfully punching his arm, I shrieked indignantly,

"I am not like Spot! And don't you ever say so again!"

After promising he wouldn't, I gave in and said that we could go to Tibby's. No better time than the present to own my fear. Walking in, I heard the bell chime, signaling that someone had entered. Looking around, I saw and empty table tucked away in the corner of the room; _perfect._ Grabbing Shadow's hand, I led him to the table. Sitting, we ordered our food. Playing with my curly hair, which I had been letting down lately, I asked Shadow about the other boroughs.

"Well, Spot's real good friends with the leader of the 'Hattan newsies, Jack Kelly. Queen's is a pretty shady place, worse Brooklyn. The leader of Queen's is pretty... bloodthirsty, so Spot don't like him too much. The Bronx is where most of the drug dealings go down, so the leader is always real high. As for Staten Island, they have very small amounts of newsies, so we'se don't talk to 'em."

Shadow explained, while scratching his head thoughtfully. Our soup had arrived, and we were about to dive in when I heard the bell chime. Frigid, I willed myself not to turn. I heard the tip,tap, tap of someone with a walking stick. My stomach tied into a knot as I heard the taps coming closer. Shadow was trying hard to ignore it too, but I could see his uneasiness. The rest of Tibby's had gone quiet. Finally the tapping stopped, but in it's place came a cold voice,

"What do you'se think you'se doin'?"

I knew he wasn't speaking to me; the question was directed to Shadow. Shadow was trying hard to act brave in front of his leaders, holding onto the table for support. Slowly and cautiously, he replied,

"Talkin' to Bittersweet."

I could barely process what was going on. Can't Spot just leave me alone; it's like we can't co-exist together! Before I knew it, Spot had punched Shadow on the right eye, busting his lip. Steadying himself, Shadow braced himself for another blow. Unable to see my friend get hurt, I grabbed my soup, kicked Spot's legs out from underneath him, and poured it down on him. Helping Shadow, we both high-tailed it out of Tibby's, away from Spot's wrath. Behind me, I could hear a Spot shout from behind me, words that haunted me as we got back to the lodging house,

"You'se gonna get it now Bittersweet!"


	10. Warning

"You shouldn't have done that for me. Now Spot is going to kill you."

Smiling weakly, I ensure him I would be fine.

"I'd rather face Conlon's wrath than watch a friend get hurt."

That was a white lie, but at least it made my conscience feel better. I had brought Shadow upstairs to his bed, where I gave him a soaked towel to put over his black-eye. I couldn't do much for his split lip, but at the very least I stopped it from bleeding.

"Why do you let Spot push you around like that?"

"He's the leader, and whatever he says is for the good of the newsies. Sometimes it sucks to listen to him, but he means well."

I bit back a sarcastic remark; I hadn't told Shadow what had happened between me and Spot, so if I said anything, it would look like I was bashing his leader for no reason. Spot wasn't going to be happy when he came back, so without looking at Shadow, I told him,

"Shadow, you need to disappear for a while. Spot probably won't be in a reasonable mood. So I really think you should-"

" Go. And tell the boys not to come back here for a while."

Jumping, I hadn't expected Spot to be back so soon. Shadow shot me a worried glance, to which I gave him a nervous smile, and shooed him away. I watched as he stepped around Spot and out the door. Making a silent promise to myself not to get into anymore trouble, I took a chance and looked at Spot. His shirt was soaked with chicken broth, making the room smell like soup. Once Spot heard the door shut downstairs, he began to un-button his shirt. Blushing, I faced away from Spot and started to walk towards the door.

"Don't move a muscle."

Spot growled at me. Shrinking from his sheer anger, I walked slowly back to Shadow's bed. I heard Spot's dirty shirt hit the floor, along with his cane. Biting my cheeks, I stopped myself from crying out as Spot came closer to me. Leaning into my ear, he commanded,

"Take off yer clothes."

Shaking my head blindly, I disobeyed his demand. _This can't be happening._ Spot wouldn't have me on my friends bed, would he? After he repeated his command, my reply still the same, Spot lost it and shoved me onto the bed. He was above me in a compromising position, with each breath his sculpted chest heaved. Holding my hands above me with one hand, he started to un-button my shirt with his other. Shying away from his rough calloused hands, I manage a feeble,

"D-don't!"

Surprised, as if I had the audacity to speak to him, Spot asked a condescending tone,

"And why, would I do that?"

Retorting with confidence in my voice,

"And why, wouldn't you?"

This only made him continue with the matter at his hand. Biting my lip, I struggled and hissed,

"Do you get your jolly out of raping younger girls, Conlon?"

Scoffing, he said,

"I doubt it will be enjoyable. And you still haven't answered my question."

Unable to do much else, I mumbled my answer. Raising an eyebrow, Spot asked,

"What was that?"

Exasperated, I clarified,

"Because I'm virgin!"

Giving me a arrogant smirk, Spot replied,

"Well then consider yourself lucky I'm your first."

I could feel Spot coming down to my last few buttons when I asked,

"Why are you doing this?"

His hands stopped moving, and he hit me with a death glare. Shrinking under his stare, he responded coldly,

"Because you need to be taught a lesson."

Begging him I pleaded,

"Please don't. I promise I won't disobey you ever again."

Without changing face he declared,

"After this I doubt you will."

Tears coming to my eyes, I bit my lip before stating,

"So your just going to rape me to keep your precious ego intact. Then what? Are you just going to pretend it never happened? Cause I am sure I won't forgive you."

Spot took his hands away from my shirt, placing them on either side of my head. Staring at me for a long time, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Well then what do you propose I do? You just soaked me in front of me boys. I've got a reputation to keep."

Relieved I was able to keep him at bay, I tried to think of a suitable punishment. But Spot beat me to it.

"This Saturday me and me newsies are invited to a party at Manhattan. It's supposed to be real fun with lots of poker," my eyes glittered with delight; it would be fun to win more money.

" But you can't go."

Biting my lip, I knew it was better than the alternative, so I shakily shook my head to show I understood. After Spot got off me, I started to button up my shirt with my shaky hands. Before Spot left to go to his room, he threatened,

"But throw another stunt like that, and I won't be so kind."


	11. Closure

It was Saturday morning, and I hadn't seen Shadow in over two days. Spot had been surprisingly nicer while he was gone, treating me like a human being. It's hard to tell, but I think our discussion on Thursday had really made him reflect on how he was acting with me. I had sincerely felt bad that I had to poor soup on him, so I decided to make up for it. Making a stop for the third time at the tailor shop, I bought Spot another shirt; one that was a faded purple, the most expensive in the store; I had no intention of telling him how much it cost. Quietly, I reached the docks, shy to apologize. _Closure is needed between us._ Climbing up determinedly to Spot, who was atop a bunch of wooden boxes, I presented the shirt to him.

"Look Spot... I'm sorry. For disrespecting you.",

I paused, waiting for him to accept it. Taking it eagerly into his hands, I saw a flash of confusion cloud his eyes. But it was quickly replaced with a confident look and smug smile. Continueing, I added,

"...and I hope we can put the past behind us."

Watching him roughly pull the shirt over his head, he placed it over his ragged and dirty replacement. Sighing contently, I moved and sat next to him, looking at the docks. Boys were swimming in the water, naked, and practicing using their slingshots. A couple were selling here too, not attracting much customers; I doubt anyone would buy while they knew Spot Conlon was watching them. He was truly feared in Brooklyn, so much that even the richest gentlemen parted in the streets to let him by. A harsh poke was sent to my shoulder, and I turned towards Spot.

"Are you'se even listenin' to me Bittersweet?"

I hadn't noticed that Spot was talking, and mumbled a sorry. Tapping his cane against the box, he looked back at his boys while saying,

"I'se was sayin' that I'se guess it was me fault too."

Looking in awe, I bit back an exclamation that was bound to ruin the mood. Instead I shuffled my legs nervously and explained,

"But it was mostly mine. I've been a thorn in your side all this time. I hope you can forgive me-"

Interrupting me, Spot countered my apology, saying,

"Yeah,you'se been a real prick."

Scowling, I knew that Spot would ruin it for both of us. Giving me a glare to say he wasn't finished, he repeated to me what he had said before,

"I'se just don't know how to deal with you'se Bittersweet! You'se not like other goil's-"

"As in, I don't fall madly in love with you every-time you smirk at me?"

Ignoring my interruption, he continued,

"You'se back talk me, get on me nerves and try to pick a fight. You'se have a sarcastic remark to almost everything, know how to play a mean game of pokah, and you'se a doity fighter."

The image of pouring soup over Spot flicked into my mind, earning him a smile. Replying smoothly, I remarked,

"I guess it's the same with you Spot. All the boys at my school had learned the hard way not to mess with me; and I barely even touched most of them! But you, you just need to apply to my brain that you are the leader, and I'm the follower. Even your sexist remarks stay firm, when I rebuke everyone of them."

Giving me a sincere smile, Spot ran a hand through his hair; a habit he seemed to use often around me. Smirking, I said under my breath,

"At least I haven't heard any of those god-awful pick-up lines I've heard so much about."

In a look of shock, Spot said with mock hurt,

"My pick-up lines aren't that bad!"

Stifling a chuckle unsuccessfully, Spot gave me a annoyed look. Holding my mouth, I stopped from giggling after Spot told me one of his pick-up lines:

"What could be so wrong in Heaven that your here?"

Unable to stifle my laughter anymore, I started laughing like crazy, unable to believe that the Spot Conlon had actually said that. After calming down, and wiping a few stray tears from my eyes, I asked him,

"So when are you actually going to try?"

Snorting rudely, Spot stated,

"Look heah goilie, I've had more in the bed than you'se been in bed. Goes to show my pick-up lines are god-awful; or you'se goils don't care about nothin' but a man's looks."

"I still don't understand why you've had so many girls."

Spot tilted his nose upwards, saying in an indignant tone,

"For you'se infoahmation, I'se been told I'm pretty handsome."

Unable to stop myself, I said obnoxiously,

"And who told you that, your mother?"

The atmosphere around us suddenly changed from cheery to dreary; I had hit a wrong note. Cutting through the silence was Spot's barely audible whisper,

"Yeah, me modder."

Shocked at what I had said, I tryed to comfort Spot, saying,

"I'm sorry Spot. I didn't mean it."

Trying to give him a friendly squeeze around the shoulders, he shrugged me off, muttering,

"I'se okay."

Getting up, he moved to exit his perch, saying before he left,

"I'se gotta go to Manhattan. Don't get into any trouble Bittersweet."


	12. Brooklyn Bridge

The rest of the day went pretty smoothly. Spot and his boys left for Manhattan, leaving me behind. Scowling inwardly, I imagined all the fun they would have. I couldn't help but watch them cross the Brooklyn Bridge, wishing I was going with them. Swinging my legs over the bridge, long after they left, I looked across the river. It was pretty mucky; I couldn't understand how the newsies could stand swimming in it. But I guess the fact that it was hard to see through was good; people would gasp in horror if they saw what was there.

After reading most of the recent news, I knew that when a murder happened, people would toss the body in the river. Most Detectives concluded that when a body couldn't be found, it was in the river. If someone had told me that a week ago, I would have to pretend to gasp at the news. But I knew the world wasn't some perfect globe where everything died only from old age. Murders, Homicide, Patricide, Matricide, Suicide, you name it. Brooklyn was home to all these things. _How can one just be comfortable living here knowing all these things?_

The newsies always strutted with confidence, as if no one could touch them. They lived in a world of horror, but acted above it. They probably even went to sleep with a smile on their faces; not praying that they would make it through the night. Maybe it was because they were under Spot's protection. If you mess with Spot's newsies, you have to answer to him. I contained a shudder; I hadn't seen that boy's true anger, and yet I knew not to mess with him. _Does Spot even kill?_

Rumors were passed about him killing; some more gory than the next. But I had never actually seen it happen; maybe that's all they were. Rumors. The thought of the fifteen year old newsie having blood stain hands scared me; I did sleep under his roof. If he finally got tired of me then I could disappear just like that. Spot did have many connections; whenever he would 'disturb the peace', police wouldn't spare him a glance. Probably because he either had their necks on a noose, or he pulled the strings. Threatening Spot was never a good idea; the fact I held substantial power over him probably killed him.

Pushing away from my thoughts, the faint sound of people talking caught my ears. Without turning, I pretended not to have heard them, instead eavesdropping.

"...The police are frantic...searching...big reward..."

I heard a lower voice respond, catching tidbits,

"here...picture...her...couldn't have made it far..."

Understanding what they were saying, I cautiously picked myself up. Silently, I passed them, trying to hide my face. Whoever those people were, they were looking for me. Catching a glimpse of them, I saw a skinny man with a shaven beard; the other was more portly, bald and wearing an over-embellished suit. Keeping in mind to look out for them, I made it back to the Lodging house. Swearing, I assured myself that they hadn't seen me. Otherwise they would have grabbed me then.

Lying atop my cot, I ignored the feeling of dread forming in my stomach and making my head fuzzy. _If only I had a book._

* * *

><p>Rising with the sun, I rubbed my eyes to get rid of any lingering sleep. My clothes looked fairly wrinkled, but otherwise their was no need to take a bath just yet. <em>Odd, living with boys has made me put off bathing longer than normal.<em> I could tell the boys had already come back; banging and loud feet rushing to get ready could be heard above me.

Smiling secretly to myself, I left the kitchen and took a space on the beat up old couch in the main room. The stuffing was popping out of rips in the dirty and stained fabric, worn out from years of use. I never really like fancy and rich stuff; I never like the feeling that if I touched it, it would break. I guess the life I was born into wasn't one I was made for. Idly, I unbraided my hair and french braided it tighter again. Not feeling feminine today, I pinned it up, desperate to hide it. The morning edition wasn't going to be out yet.

Waiting, I hoped to catch a glimpse of Shadow. I think two days was long enough to be gone. Staring at the staircase, my breath hitched, catching a sliver of purple. Running, I gave the purple shirt a big hug, saying excitedly,

"I missed you so much!"

My heart dropping, I heard the familiar sneer and saw an old smirk,

"Thank's darlin'. But I only left for the night."

Pushing him away from me, I crossed my arms and frowned. Of course it was Spot; I had bought him a purple shirt just the other day. I wanted to knock my head in for acting so abruptly; while chanting to myself, 'Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!". Not in the mood to argue with Spot, I walked away, waving my hand in a dismissive manner,

"Sorry. Thought you were someone else."


	13. Feral

Today was a pretty sunny day. And sunny for Brooklyn means that there weren't any clouds out... yet. Selling papers in the summer can be a real drag; the sun beating down on you, and most of the customers inside cooling off. I wish I had brought my umbrella; the sun was beating right on my eyes. Sighing, I went to my usual selling Spot, only to find a suprise.

"Hey sir, I don't suppose you would want to buy a pape', right?"

I questioned the young aristocrat. He was wearing a dark maroon coat, with covered buttons, and a light purple waistcoat. His legs were adorned with a similar red garb, his neck constricted by a golden necktie. He was probably older than Spot, his refined and chiseled features telling me he came from a life of riches. Scowling inwardly, I noticed how his nose was slightly upturned, wondering how I could have dealt with wealthy people to begin with. Barely sparing me a glance he said,

"I am looking for a young girl. She usually sells in this spot, have you seen her?"

Covering up my rude snort with a cough, I smiled under my hand while wiping my face. I had nearly forgotten that I had left my hair covered up today. Lowering my voice a few octaves, I asked sneakly,

"Yeah, I'se seen dat goil, what's it to ya's?"

I was hoping I hadn't tried too hard at a Brooklyn accent; but anyone from here would be able to call my bluff. Apparently not noticing my forced accent, the man continued,

"I'm a friend of hers. Do you suppose you can take me to her?"

"No."

Whipping around, I saw Spot, a toothy grin on his face; which succeeded in making him look wolfish. He was leaning slightly on his cane, his tone condescending and smug; but tainted as if it had uncertainty. He probably didn't know if it was my consent to tell him who I was; but Spot probably didn't care what I thought too much.

Sending a silent look to Spot, I hoped it came off that I didn't know this guy. I don't know how much Spot heard, but I prayed he hadn't heard my attempt at his accent; he'd never let it go. The young man looked slightly ruffled, but continued headstrong anyways, saying,

"And who are you to tell me what to do, young man?"

I cringed, remembering when I had made that same mistake not long ago. You don't question Spot, much less talk to him like that. Instead of pumping his fists into the gentry's face like I thought Spot would, he simply looped his cane back into his belt. Shrugging with his shoulders and hands, Spot said,

"The _young man_ that took dat goil in. But she ain't free for audience; she's got lots of papes to sell. So put an egg in your shoe and beat it."

Spot was letting him off the hook. If the young man had half a brain, he would hightail it out of here; _I feel like a hypocrite right about now._

"Look here, this is a private matter. I will speak with her, with or without _your_ approval."

Feeling the tension pile on, in an attempt to cut through it, I hastely said,

"There is no need to cause a scene. Why don't you just tell us why you must speak with her, then we will bring you to her."

Cursing inwardly, I hoped that he didn't notice my accent drop. The man nodded, and looked around as if to make sure no one was watching us. Signaling for us to follow, he lead us into an alley. Situating himself at the exit, Spot kept his hand on his cane, watching for any sign of danger. In front of him, I stood, watching the aristocrat. Finally, the young man cleared his voice, saying in an odd change of character,

"Here's how it is..."

In a fluid movement, he attacked me. Dodging to the side and tumbling, I attempt to get out of his way. But he soon caught up to me, his hands locking around my shoulders. Elbowing in the stomach, I heard a soft grunt,_ probably hit a little bit lower than the stomach due to my height...being short is great._ But he was up in a matter of seconds, ripping off my hat. Gasping, I felt my braids fall.

Spot had now moved in, and was about to land a solid punch on the man's face, before I felt cold metal graze my skin. Lifting my chin up and shying into the young man's chest, I saw Spot stop an inch away from his face. My position wasn't good; he had my arms behind my back and a knife at my my breathes steady, I widened my eyes and stared at Spot.

He had a look of indigence on his face, knowing that he couldn't help his hands clenched and by his sides, he growled through a set of gritted teeth,

"What do you want."

Chuckling, as if the mere question was funny, the young man said with mock hurt and sarcasm,

"You don't remember me, Spot? I don't see how you could, were such great _friends_."

Realization flickered across Spot's face, the mood suddenly getting darker.

"Feral."

_How can one word be so full of loathing and hate?_ These two obviously had some troubled past. And I had just gotten myself stuck right in the middle of it. Gulping, I hoped that Spot could remain their cool. Spot glanced at me and back to Feral, asking,

"Why so far from Queens,

Feral?"

Shrugging as if they were talking over tea, his grip still firm, he explained,

"Business. But I'm afraid I have to leave early."

Pressing the blade tighter across my neck, blood forming and condensing, Spot let Feral pass. _This can't be happening!_ Shooting Spot a distressed look, he ignored it. _Is he just going to let this Queens leader take me away?_ Once Spot was behind us, I felt dread form in my stomach. Spot spoke to Feral, stating,

"You know this means war, Feral."

What Feral said next was full of anticipation; gleeful at the thought of such a challenge. Sending Spot a wolfish grin, he said,

"Of course."


	14. Queens

We had already passed the border of Brooklyn and into Queens. I could tell, because all of a sudden the air changed; all eyes were on us. Even though no one was on the streets, for good reason, eyes from the shadows watched us. Staring at the girl that their leader had brought back home. Biting my lip, I wrestled for dominance over my hands. He had switched his position, so that instead of having a knife at my neck, his hands clenched my tightly. Chuckling again, _Oh how I hate that laugh!_, he said,

"Cute. You actually think you can break my hold."

I cringed at his comment; he wasn't unlike Spot. But the way he seemed to crave for war and blood, the pain of others, was what set them both apart. And the obvious distinguished features. He had black hair, clashing with his bright green eyes. His skin was light and fair, as though he had never seen sunlight. He probably operated in the shadows mostly. _How can he afford such nice clothes?_ They were barely even practical for moving around; something told me that Queens didn't make most of there money threw selling papers.

Struggling harder, invoked by his sneer, I attempted to rid myself of the burden that was Feral. Annoyed by my attempt at escape, he flung my over my shoulder. Shouting some commands to his newsies, he strutted, _yes strutted,_ towards what appeared to be his lodging house. Glancing behind himself, he settled his eyes at my butt.

"Nice Ass."

Absentmindly, I said,

"You and Spot are really alike."

I wouldn't let him get under my skin; he was just trying to rile me up. Of course, that didn't mean I didn't take offense to his comments, but I just didn't react. And in truth, he and Spot alike; sexist and rude. Not to mention they only cared what people looked like on the outside; it's not hard to believe I'm calling Spot vain and self-absorbed.

His lodging house was actually quite clean, to my surprise. The front was shabby, but the inside was a sight to behold; most of the furniture looked new, expensive and in fashion. American Empire dressers lined the wall, along with an occasional bookcase. A beautiful floral rug warmed the floor, sheer curtains covering the windows one either side. The staircase looked rarely used, a beige carpet going down the middle. Candles lit the room, making the shadows pop; an eerie look consumed the room.

_You still haven't asked what they plan to do with you._ If I was going to be rational, I would cut to the chase. But the rebellious side of me thought it would be more fun to toy with them for a while; that side always won in the end. Keeping my mouth in a tight line, I felt Feral place me on a chair. The staring seemed to last for hours before he called out,

"Come meet our new _guest_, boys."

Sticking out my tongue at him, I felt disgusted by the way he said 'guest'. More like 'prisoner', and I didn't even like the sound of that. Boys came out of all corners, most lanky and shady looking. They all had drab and colorless clothing on, making their leader stand out. Gathering in a disorderly heap, they stared at me with blank eyes; they had no idea whether or not I was the enemy yet. Unable to shake the feeling of their eyes, I made an attempt to distract myself by going through all the swears I knew. _They could come of use, pretty soon._

"Who's she, boss?"

One bravely questioned; I didn't get a look at him because he fled to the end of the forming circle. _They must really be afraid of Feral... _A hearty laugh erupted, shaking the room; figuratively.

"She's Spot's Girl."

The blank stares soon became looks of personal vendetta; _Is Spot nice to anyone?_ But their stares didn't bother me now, only Feral's rude accusation. Spitting and seething, I gripped the armrests of my wooden chair.

"I am not _Spot's_ girl!"

Chuckling, Feral tapped my chin up, saying,

"It ain't too bad a thing to be going out with Brooklyn's Finest."

Digging my nails into my skin, I snapped out at his finger, hoping to get some blood running. This boy was getting on my last nerves; and he had only started talking a few seconds ago. I never got to bite his finger, due to his fast reflexes. Calming myself down, I regained my posture.

Switching my face from seething to bored and nonchalant, I rested my face in the palm of my hand. Positioning one of my elbows onto the armrests, I let my other hand twirl mindlessly with my hair. Keeping my eyes far into the distance, I kept my voice empty of any emotions except for indifference.

"What do you want?"

Not phased by my change in attitude, Feral merely brushed it off, replying with casualness,

"Just wanted to mess with ..."

Giving him a glance, I saw his toothy grin appear. I had fallen into his trap; he wanted me to show interest.

"I have heard quite the rumor about you."

Biting my lip, I tried to fight the gnawing of worry in my stomach. Attempting, but failing, to put back on my mask of indifference, I tried to suppress my racing thoughts._How does he know? Does he know? If he did, what will he do? Will he turn me in-_

Breaking away from my thoughts, I blinked twice. Boys could be childish in serious situations; waving a hand in my face to get my attention? Seriously? Snapping at him, upset that he disrupted my thought process,

"What?"

"I was saying that I heard from one of my birdies, that you got to the lodging house the same day the ambassador's daughter went missing."

Snorting, I fought down a chuckle,

"Great deduction. Would you like an award?"

Frowning, he snapped his hands. Two boys came rushing forth with a cloth in their hands, along with rope. Tying my securely to the chair, they shoved the cloth in my mouth and wrapped it shut with rope. Unable to speak, I shot each a death glare. Feral continued with a slight air of annoyance,

"I learned both of these things from a news article. I have it here with me."

Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a crumpled ink ridden sheet of paper. Smoothing it out, he held it up to his face, speaking clearly,

"... a tanned and short thirteen-year old girl with curly/wavy dark brown hair and chocolate eyes."

Looking up from the paper, he did a mock double take, looking back at the paper and then at me. Letting his hands fall down to his sides, he said with recognition,

"Well, I'll be. Looks like we got ourselves a match."

Dropping my eyes, I stared at my feet. _Maybe..._ Digging my feet into the ground for support, I shifted my weight forward. Hunching over, I picked up the weightless wooden seat, stiffening my legs. Keeping the exit in my sights, I knocked anyone coming at me with the chair. Dodging any open hands, I made for the exit. Smiling underneath the foul rag, I saw my freedom. _Stupid Feral. With everyone in here, I can safely cross the streets without a newsie jumping me._

In a blur, and the sound of metal slicing through air, a knife wedged itself next to my head. Unable to see it, because of the fact it was stuck on the back of the chair, I froze. _First slingshots, now knife-throwers. Why don't boys just play marbles anymore?_ A sharp voice cut the air like the owner's knife,

"Not so fast sweetheart."


	15. Choices

_This place really smells._ Not in a bad way, really. The room the Queen newsies had locked me in smelled distinctly of lavender. Lavender was a beautiful scent, except that this room was filled with it; so much that it was stuffy. The smell was intoxicating and made the room humid and the air dry and heavy. My breathes coming out haggard, rasping filling the place of my voice. I hadn't had anything to drink in over a day; or was it just a few hours? The room didn't have a window in it, the only light a dying candle. It was on its last breathes of life; flickering and casting shadows across the room.

They had left me untied, off a chair. The room was sparse, nothing I could use to escape, except for a bed frame and mattress. Huddling onto the hard mattress, I held my knees to my chest, keeping my movements to a trying to escape, I had received a few tiny cuts on my arms, no more than a finger long. _Why did you stop?_ I guess I feared Feral; his name did have dark promise.

In a fit of rage, I jumped off the bed and banged my entire body against the door. Pounding it with all my might, it ceased to open. Collapsing against it, my body tingled from pain. Weakly, I pounded my fists against it, my breaths becoming labored. Dropping my hands, I laid my head against the door. Tired, aching and out of breath, I gave in.

"Do you want to know stuff about Spot? 'Cause I'd be happy to tell you his innermost secrets."

If I had the energy, I would have smiled at my lies; if Feral did want to know his secret's from me, Feral would end up with rubbish. Whatever would have spewed from my mouth would be complete and utter lies. I just hoped that Spot wouldn't catch wind of this; he would have my head. A chuckle erupted from the other side of the door,

"Spot wouldn't even tell his mother what food he hated; I doubt he would tell you his 'secrets'."

My mouth turned at the corners slightly, but I was not deterred. Hoping to gain freedom, I angrily asked,

"Then what do you want to know?"

A smooth reply came back from Feral, his words mocking,

"You don't know anything I don't, sweetheart."

Placing my face in my hands, I sighed. Rubbing my forehead with my fingers, I regained my breath. Fighting the migraine that was forming, I repeated my question from earlier,

"What do you want with me then; other than to tick off Spot."

A pause came from the other side, as if thinking of the many answers he could say. Shifting could be heard, and from the shadows underneath the door, I could guess he was facing me on his toes in a crouched position. Placing my ear against the wood, I strained to hear what he said next.

"I could always tell your father where you are. And what you've been doing."

Swallowing hard, I thought of what would happen if my father found out. _I would be sent to convent, be forced to marry an older man, I would have no contact with the outside world..._ Gritting my teeth, I hissed through them,

"You wouldn't," A chuckle from opposite me told otherwise. Trying to keep my composure, I asked, "Why?"

"For my own self-satisfaction."

I could practically hear the sneer, cringing at his cruelty. _I have no doubt that his threat would be carried out._ Unable to hold back my tears, I wiped them away harshly. _I won't cry. _Steadying my shaky voice, I asked quietly,

"What do I need to do, to make sure you don't?"

Seeing the handle on the door turn, I backed away from the entrance. Light poured in for the briefest of moments, soon blocked by Feral's body. Closing the door behind him, he stood securely in front of it. Giving me a wolfish grin, he replied.

"There are two things you could do. Please me..."

A shudder racked through my body._ Gross, and no thanks. But it is better than facing my father..._

"...or become my birdie."

Spy on Spot, or get raped. Either one ends in the same thing; Spot told me not to pull another stunt. If he found out that I was spying on him and feeding the information back to his nemesis, the results would be grim._ Why would Feral want to have sex with me anyways?_ Crouching above me, Feral held my chin with his hands, answering my question,

"Of course, stealing Spot's girl would be more fun. Assuming that he hasn't taken you yet."

"No, he hasn't, and I'm not Spot's girl."

Giving me another grin, he stood up and pivoted on his heel. Waving to behind himself, he said non-chalantly,

"It's your choice."


	16. Freedom

I closed my eyes; memories came flooding back. I had went back to the Brooklyn Boarding house, and everyone was relieved to see me. Except for Spot that is; he was away at Manhattan, on _business_. But someone had been sent to go tell him to call of any attacks on Queens, and that I had come home. _The more time I have until I see Spot, the better_. I had a feeling he would find a way to pin this whole fiasco on me. What I need is a little time to myself, to sort out my thoughts. My eyes clouded over as my mind brought me back to the night before I was released:

_Damn, I couldn't help but think. Feral had already decided it was time for my answer; the door was once again unlocked. Keeping it open, the light illuminated his tall build, casting a menacing shadow. Taking narrow breathes through my chapped lips, I brushed my dirty bangs out of my face. He stepped to the side slightly, allowing me view of the exit. Sending me a wolfish smile, he held out his left hand, placing it in front of the door. The silent question was asked; stay here, or leave? Grabbing onto the wall for support, I wobbly heaved myself upright. Shaky steps brought me in front of him, a scowl tugging at my lips. Mouthing an oath to him, I smiled sweetly before shoving his hand aside roughly. Taking longer strides to hide my bum leg, I found my strength and headed for freedom._

I had probably chosen the right thing; I could always give away useless information to Feral. Or even outdated news, like how Spot had recently taken a girl into his boarding house. At the thought of that, I smiled. Looking down, I realized that I had been sitting on the edge of the roof. Then I remembered that I had been spending the time Spot had been away concurring my fears; height, the dark, shots and Spot. If figured the last one would be the hardest; but I couldn't really say I was afraid of Spot. Sure, he intimidated me, but admitting I was afraid of him would be trashing my life philosophy; always stand out. In a world where girls were either scared of or loved Spot, I tried hard to stand out.

_But does that make me a fake?_ No, it was just this time I actually tried. I always stood out, wherever I went. I wasn't always bittersweet; I was once a witty, occasionally-nasty, funny, smart and odd little girl. But that part of me died; hidden away by my two personas. I guess it happened when I realized that not everyone loved the real me. So instead I changed the way I treated people, according to my first impression of them; push-overs and kids that pushed others over. Cute and Boyish. Sweet and Mean. Occasionally my true self would shine through, but only to my real friends; there were only two of them. But they didn't treat me nicely, so I left them and decided to just create acquaintance.

Now Spot was an odd one; he wouldn't buy the cute act, but didn't take any crap from anyone. How do I deal with someone with as many mood swings as Spot? I stand out, and try to be different than any other girl he has ever met, and yet look convincing. That's what I had been doing so far, balancing myself out. But that obviously wasn't working; maybe... _I'll just show him me. _If there was one thing I was all the time, it was stubborn. My resolve set, I sent Spot a mental message;

_I won't be putty in your hands anymore, Conlon._

_Prepare yourself._


	17. Spot's Back

I had spent the rest of my week training myself for Spot's arrival; playing poker to help stay emotionless, selling papes to improve my lying, listening to the newsies' tales to extend my patience, jumping from the top of Spot's perch to conquer my fear, stealing bread from vendors to improve my running speed, waiting in line and knocking on the washroom door to toughen my skin, and going to Tibby's late at night to dodge drunkards throwing bottles to enhance my reflexes. I couldn't find someone to be my punching bag though; Shadow was still gone. _I really don't think he is coming back anytime soon._

But the time I was really active was when everyone in the lodging house was asleep. I would practice going up and down the stairs, each time faster than the next. On night I was so tired going up, that I rested next to the wall. Curiosity bended my body to it's will, bringing it to Spot's door. It was closed, and locked I concluded after jiggling the handle. _Interesting_. I had to get into Spot's room; why would he lock it unless he wanted to hide something? Taking a pin out of my hair, I made up for my lack of experience with determination. Every night I would go up there, and try to open the door. Eventually, I had to go buy more pins for both my hair and the lock; it took all my concentration to make sure I didn't break a pin in the lock. Otherwise, I would be paying for more than just a locksmith.

Making my trip back up the stairs, I arrived at my daily destination; Spot's door. Placing my hand on the ground to steady me, I kneeled and looked up a little to see the lock clearly. Holding my pins with steady hands, I inserted each into the lock. Pressing my ear to the wood, I strained to listen for the tell-tale click. After some hard work, I heard the door click open.

Quickly pushing open, I glided past the entrance and into his room. His cane was gone with him, and the room looked as if someone had died in it. The sheets appeared as if someone used them to choke another person with them; the drawers from the dresser on the ground. A few clothes stood crumpled up around the room. Moving over to the drawers, I looked and rummaged inside them. _Nothing._

Scowling, I thought, _Maybe Spot isn't hiding anything._ But then I caught site of it; a letter. It was half-written and laying on the floor. Looking at it in curiosity, I could barely read the writing. But one word stood clearly out from the white sheet: and just glancing at it made my heart constrict in terror. _How could he?_ Silently, I left the room quickly, shutting the door quietly behind me.

* * *

><p><em>Ugh...<em> Groggily, I propped my elbows up on the cot, woken up my loud cheers. Trading my usual braid for a half-up half-down hairdo, I stomped over to my door. Not bothering to smooth out my shirt, I flung my door open and lost it. _Those TWITS! Just one day of sleeping till noon; that's all I ask._ Waving my hands around, and squinting my eyes in anger, I whacked a newsie in the head. Just as I was about to let a couple oaths fly, I noticed the shocked faces staring at me. Trying to calm down, I asked lowly,

"What is going on?"

The young men, still in their long johns, just stared at me. _What? They didn't have a problem talking around me before..._ Looking around, I checked for any changes in the setting that could have occurred overnight. But as usual, we were still in the same lived-in boarding house, and they were still newsies without a leader. _Leader? _Looking back at the group, I swore,

"Damn."

"Happy to see you'se too, Bittahsweet."

He sarcastically countered. I absolutely hated that boy; Spot Conlon that is. Ignoring his presence, I shoved a boy out of the way, walking to the door. Saying to no one in particular,

"I'm going to sell some papes."

Walking out the door, I dodged a carriage passing by. Keeping my walk leisurely, I became comfortable living in Brooklyn; under Spot's protection. I kept clear of empty alleys and long winding roads; I had no intention of getting kidnapped again. Walking past all the bakeries and butcheries, I stopped myself in front of the one place that helped me clear my head; the library.

Strolling in, I already had it in my mind that I had no intention to read. Giving the librarian a curt nod, I sat down at one of the oak tables. A book sat in the middle; it was a dictionary. _What an interesting read, _I thought sarcastically. Opening it up randomly, I sat it in front of me as if to read it. _That librarian won't let me stay in here just to stare morbidly into the distance._ So instead, I set my lips into a deep scowl, making believe the book was Conlon's face; if only looks could kill.

Okay, I didn't really want Spot dead; just mortally injured. Scratch that; then he wouldn't be able to protect me. Snorting, to which the librarian gave me an odd look, I thought, _As if I need him to protect me._ He hadn't done such a great job with my encounter with Feral; in fact, if I remembered correctly, he just stood staring at Feral. _Feral..._ I had taken the easy way out and decided to be his spy. I wondered when I was to start my job; maybe now that Spot was back? _Where was Spot anyways?_

I knew he was at the Manhattan Boy's Boarding House, but on what terms? A leader, friend or another wallet Racetrack could weasel some money out of? _I sure as heck won't ask him._ Still staring at the dictionary, my eyes glazed over at the word _defenestrate_: It meant to throw someone out a window. Tearing my eyes away from the word, I looked at the clock positioned above the door; it was five past six. _Oh no..._ Closing the book quickly, I scuffled my feet in an effort to reach the door. But the librarian beat me to it, stating in an annoyed voice,

"Library's closing. You have to leave."

Grabbing my ear painfully, she tossed me outside. Landing hard on my butt, I collided with the cobblestones. Holding my aching ear, I hurled after the woman,

"I was just leaving, god-dammit!"

Getting up groggily, I cursed lightly under my breath, annoyed by the old woman. Shaking my hand at her in finality, I stomped off back to the Boarding House.

**~A.N~**

**In case any of my viewers out there do not know, I have created a Website that contains pictures of my Main Characters. There is a link to it on my profile page and I will provide one for you right now:**

**.com/apps/photos/album?albumid=12483340**

**Also, I have noticed that I forgot to put in a disclaimer. I do not own any of the newsies or the places aforementioned in this story except for Bittersweet,Feral, Shadow and other works not owned by the movie _Newsies_. **

__**A.N~**


	18. The Need to Let Go

_Odd..._ I hadn't been woken up by the boys this time. It wasn't like I needed to be; I was well used to getting up early by now. Shoving the moth-eaten blanket that I had adopted onto the floor, I swung my feet over my bed. Too tired to comprehend much, I held a hand to my head; utter migraine. Walking towards the door, I ignored the fact it was open. Closing my eyes to yawn, I stepped out the door. And promptly fell. Before I even had the chance to utter a swear, I heard someone hiss,

"Watch where you'se goin, goilie."

Ignoring the voice, I attempted to get back on my feet. But a strong hand gripped my wrist, pulling me back. Unable to turn around, the owner of the hand pulled me hard against his chest. Shock ran rampant through my mind; I hadn't thought he would be so abrasive. _What are you doing?_ My mind thought harshly; bringing me back to my senses. Struggling for all I was worth, I prayed none of the newsies came down.

"Why you'se been avoidin' me Bittersweet?"

Noticing, dumbly, that my other hand was free, I elbowed Spot in the abdomen. Instead of flinching, he held steadfast; pinning my other hand behind me. Scowling, I felt his breath tickle my neck. My hair stuck up on end, and I could feel a pink blush hit my face. _What is that smell?_ Realizing what it was, I snapped, in attempt to get a rise out of Spot,

"What, you need liquid courage to talk to girls now Spot?"

Too drunk to rebuke me, he stated coldly,

"I'se have only been back fah two days, an' haven't spoken to you'se. What's your problem, broad?"

"You."

Pushing me away, Spot looked slightly agitated. Freed, but unable to leave while my emotions ran free. Wishing to let my anger out on him, I egged him on.

"The nincompoop that people call Spot Conlon; that's my problem."

Waving me off, Spot got up from his previous spot on the ground. The alcohol he had drunk seemed to not have any affect on him physically. Swiftly grabbing his cane, he twirled it aimlessly. Smoothing out his clothes, he straightened his back and turned towards me. Sending me a confused and angered look, he walked toward the door. As if in a rush, he hurredly said,

"Look, Bittersweet. I'se really don't get dames. I'se don't go time for dis though. So if you got somethin' ta say, spit it out."

Enunciating the last three words, Spot glared straight at me. Taking a breathe, I internally decided whether or not to tell him I knew. I knew what he had written, and exactly why he had written it. So why not share the fact I knew with him? Quietly, but audibly, I answered,

"Why'd you do it?"

Not waiting for Spot to even comprehend what I was saying, I narrowed my eyes and continued,

"Why'd you send that letter?"

Pulling the crumpled parchment out of my pants pocket, I roughly unfolded it. With shaking hands, I held it daintly, staring emotionally at the one legible phrase:_ 'Dear Ambassador,'_. Tears threatening to spill, my vision blurred as the reality of what those words meant crashed down on me.

"You thought that because I nearly started a war with Queens, I was too much of a hassle?"

The paper was taken out of my hands, and I titled my head up. Spot was looking at the letter, with his emotions running rampant; confusion, anger and regret littered his eyes. Scrunching it together in his hands, I saw the all to familiar tell-tale sign of anger; his knuckles turned white. Grasping my shoulders, Spot questioned loudly,

"Who let you in me room?"

If I hadn't been hanging on his words like a lost dog, I would have mistaken them to be a question; but Spot was past asking, he was _demanding_. Trying to get myself under control, I felt a tear slide past my cheek; when I did not answer, Spot reiterated his question. Choking on my words, I let out in a wobbly voice,

"No one. I let myself in."

Turning the tables, I went back to verbal offense; pushing him away and angrily stating,

"Who cares? It doesn't matter how I found it, or how I got in your room! The fact remains that _it was there_!"

Pushing my hand in his chest accusingly, I glared daggers at him; but the effect was ruined by my running eyes. Shaking his head, Spot guided my hand away from him. Fingering his cane, he refused to look in my eyes. Saying slowly as to not anger me further, Spot stated with an impatient tone,

"You miss understood, Bittersweet."

My mouth dropping, I comically stared at him; _I _don't understand. I could even see Conlon flinch; that was the one thing you don't tell a mad girl. Clenching my fists, I threw one at him haphazardly; I was hoping that the alcohol tainting his system would improve my chances of a hit. Instead of hitting his face, a calloused hand grabbed my tanned one, enclosing it. While trying to rip my hand out of his grasp, I used the other to send another hit at him. Holding both hands now, he gripped them with an iron grip.

"I was only considering sending that letter," My sobs became louder, and my body racked,

"Because I'se dought you'se would be safah wit 'im."

Unable to control myself, I collapsed in his arms. Crying against his chest, my wet tears slid onto his shirt. As if unsure on how to react, Spot tensed. After unsuccessfully trying to push me off him, his resolve crumbled. This brought a much needed smile to my face; _What next? Is he going to check to make sure no one is coming._ After letting out all my pent up sadness, I realized that the newsies were bound to come down soon. Pealing myself away from him, I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. Sure enough, Spot looked uncomfortable. My smile still on my face, I teased,

"What, the almighty Spot Conlon afraid to be caught comforting little ol' me?"

In response, Spot crossed his arms and turned his nose so it was looking down on me. Chuckling, I headed past him and prepared to carry the banner. Passing him, I touched his shoulder and gave him a heartfelt smile,

"Thanks for the shoulder."

Muttering something unintelligible, which I took as a welcome, I walked away from Spot. Not looking behind me, I was only half-way through the door when Spot complained,

"Dumb broad soaked anudder one of me shirts."


	19. Invitation

Unable to push back the girlish giggle that escaped my lips as I twirled down the road, I made my way to the distribution office. After talking with Spot yesterday, I felt free and the anchor on my chest had been removed. Slowing my pace back to walking, I lightly tapped each cobblestone with my toes. After pushing my way through the crowd of newsies, I bought twenty papes. Most of the headlines were full of it, and it was obvious that the writers were grasping at straws. _And there, lays my face. _Apparently news of the Ambassadors daughter was still fresh after a roughly two weeks.

_He should just give up._ Why would I go home? I live under the roof of New York's most feared newsie, and life isn't _horrible_. Although, I do miss most of the classes that I had at the academy; but I wouldn't have those anyways. My visits to the library helped me satiate my hunger for literature and my desire to learn. I had food in my stomach, and money in my pocket; I didn't need the ambassador.

But, my country must be grieving for me; I hadn't actually though that far. Even though I was to marry the president's son as a form of diplomatic peace, it was nothing more than a front; both he and I were figure heads. I was to return to South America in five months time, and visit _occasionally._ There was no real commitment. Could I bare to stay away from the place where my heritage lies? The mere thought of never having _ceviche _or _maduro, _dishes native to my homeland, left an empty pit in my stomach.

If I was to return to my father before I left, it would not be a victory. It would simply be a foolish attempt at freedom; my resolve _had _to be strong.

"So I guess I'm stuck in Brooklyn..."

I whispered to myself.

Hefting my papers over my shoulder, I yelled false titles into the air. Selling a couple of my papers, I moved closer to the marketplace; it was almost rush hour. Setting my papers onto the road next to me, I stayed securely in the shade of store's sign.

"Officer seen harassing young girl!"

In actuality, the headline read, "Chief of Police's daughter grounded for bad grades", but I figured my headline sounded better. A hand held out a coin, and in return I gave a paper.

"You'se know, it's bettah to avoid topics like police. They tend ta get offended."

Smiling, I recognized the boy as Racetrack; the boy who had blatantly accused me of cheating. Spitting in my hand, I extended it to him. Doing the same, he shook my hand before grabbing his paper. Pushing my hat out of my face with one of my hands, I inquired,

"What are you doing in Brooklyn, Racetrack?"

"You'se can call me Race. Just heah to tell Spot somethin'."

Cocking my eyebrow, something that took years of practice, I questioned,

"But wasn't he just at Manhattan three days ago?"

Scratching his head, Racetrack fumbled with his cigar.

"Yeah, well Kelly decided to have a party."

Shrugging, I tried to look indifferent as I stated,

"I could tell Spot for you."

Giving me an odd look, Racetrack thought it over for a second. _Wait...Why would I want to talk Spot?_

"Suah. Tell Spot it's at Medda's, tonight."

Tipping his hat to me, Racetrack walked through the throng of people. Quickly selling the rest of my papers, I rushed towards the lodging house. Still high with joy, I let a ridiculous smile reach my senses. All the parties I had been to were stuffy and my cheeks hurt from smiling to much; but they only hurt so much because it takes a lot of energy to fake a smile. Plus, this time I get to see the Manhattan newsies again. Spot had 'forbidden' me from going to the last meeting between them, so my anticipation was great.

Pushing past one of the boys, I didn't bother to say sorry. Bursting through the door, I hurried up the stairs. Slightly out of breathe from running so much, I made my way to the washroom; always check the most unlikely place for him to be. Ripping the door open without knocking, I entered. Spot was there, _my logic is __unquestionable_, and looked slightly surprised to see me.

"What the He-"

He had been busy shaving his face, which I didn't see the point of, and narrowly missed cutting himself. Because I was in a rush to pass on my information to him, I did something absolutely idiotic. Slapping the knife out of his hands, I turned the faucet. Grabbing a handful of water, I splashed it all over Spot's face. Wiping his face half-hazardously with a dirty towel, I sat on a nearby stool.

Muttering something about girls, Spot sent me an annoyed look. Combating it with a cheerful smile, I motioned for him to sit. Rubbing the side of his face he didn't get to finish shaving, he snapped,

"What?"

Crossing my arms, I became agitated by his foul mood; the nerve! I was just to announce something great! Retorting with a sarcastic tone, my eyebrows furrowed,

"If your going to be like that I won't tell you!"

For a split second, I thought Spot was going to give up and not fight me. But instead he rolled his eyes, which were showing the beginnings of fury.

"Well, how would you'se like tah be attacked by a crazed goil?"

_Uggh... __Migraine_. Ignoring his snide remark, I stated while rubbing my temples,

"Manhattan invited us to a party at... Medda's?"

Raising an eyebrow, Spot dropped his hands. Getting up, he made for the door. Annoyed by him ignoring me, I gripped his shoulder.

"So?"

"You'se can go if yah want to."

"Not that! What's Medda's?"

Sending a condescending smirk at me, he replied to me as if I were a clueless child,

"Kinda like a theatah."

Letting go of him, I thought about the party. _A theater, huh? That's new..._ _Would there be other girls there? Maybe someone to be friends with? Is it an extravagant party, and if so what would go on?_ Amiss all these questions, my female hormones persuaded me to ask one thing.

"What am I going to wear!"


	20. To Manhattan

After going through all my belongings, it saddens me to say it didn't take long, I decided to go out and buy new clothes. I couldn't stand to wear the white dress that I still had; so I made up my mind to sell it. But I needed to leave soon, because nightfall was almost upon us. Racing towards the tailor shop I had visited many times before, I ignored the feeling of dread creeping up into my throat.

Throwing myself through the door, I prayed that the store was open. The tailor signaled for me enter, and gave me a pleasant smile. Giving him a polite one back, I was glad that he knew me as a regular; if not, he would have kicked me out. My feet lead me towards the racks of clothing. Despite what others may think, I did have a preference of clothes; bright and eye-catching or exotic and soft. Since I already wore clothes fitting the first description, I decided to buy some that fit the latter.

That's when it caught my eye; _A soft pink sweater._ It had a v-neck with long sleeves that cinched at the end. Loving it at first glance, I couldn't help but grab one in my size. Because of the neck, I had to buy tangerine undershirt. Next was the bottoms, which were conveniently placed across from the shirts. I settled for a long dark brown skirt, which draped loosely from my hips. Grabbing some white socks, a tan scarf and some black mary-janes to tie in the outfit, I payed the clerk.

By the time I had left the store, it was already raining. _Why didn't I bring my umbrella?_ Growling, I hid the packaged clothes under my shirt, where hopefully they would stay dry. Stepping in slippery mud and wet cobblestones, I clumsily made my way to the Brooklyn Boarding House. Taking the back routes took less time, and was evidently more dry. Finally, I reached the house and twisted the knob. But my hands were soaked and couldn't get a grip on the handle. After a couple of tries, I settled with knocking furiously on the beaten wood.

A boy that looked around eight opened it for me, and thanking him, I left the boy wide-eyed and went into my room. Locking the door, I took out my clothes and got ready. The clothes fit perfectly, but the mary-janes were rather uncomfortable. I skipped make-up because that vile stuff caked onto my face sickened me. Taking my hair out of its braid, I parted it into two. Combing it lightly with my fingers, I remembered what my mother had told me,

_"You have such beautiful curls, darling."_

_"But they'll never be as pretty as yours..."_

_"Hush now child! It's just a matter of dealing with them."_

Taking my dark curls into hand, I carefully scrunched them and pulled. Flipping my hair down and repeating the steps, I added the final touch; a splash of water so that they didn't frizz. Letting my hair fall down my chest, I gave myself a once-over before walking over to the door. Before my hand could reach the door knob, Spot opened the door. Only sparing me a glance, he started,

"You'se ready tah go Bitter-"

Turning back to look at me, Spot studied me hard; shock was evident in his eyes, but his expression was stoic. Self-consciousness flooded me, and in an effort to divert his attention, I told him,

"I was just about to leave. Did you need something?"

That cocky smirk was back on Spot's face; he replied smoothly while leaning on the door frame,

"Well, I don't suppose ya knows how tah get tah Medda's, do ya?"

Extending his arm to for me to hold, I brushed past him. Cutting ahead of me, we started our walk to Manhattan. While Spot was looking forward, I had time to observe his outfit; a dark brown newsie hat adorned his head like a crown, hiding the gelled back blonde hair. His athletic frame was covered by a dark blue tartan button down shirt, and he wore the same red suspenders. Caramel pants went far past his knees ending just above the ankle to reveal black riding boots; probably a stolen from Sheephead. His symbols of power, his well-crafted slingshot and elegant cane, hung on an empty belt loop.

But Spot had caught me looking at him, and provoked with a smart remark,

"I'm flattoired that you'se find me atthactive, but it's rude ta stare."

Feeling foolish at being caught, I lowered my gaze and mumbled inaudibly under my breath. If I was lucky, maybe this trip wouldn't take long; but the universe hasn't been too kind so far.


	21. Unhappy Reunion

"Why do you carry a cane?"

To be frank, now probably wasn't the time to ask Spot such a thing. And I certainly wasn't _trying _to strike up a conversation with him, but I couldn't help it; it had been bothering me for a while. That's probably the only way Spot acquired such a tool; the mere thought of the gore sent shivers up my back.

Spot still hadn't answered me, taking his time with the answer. Scratching his hair-less chin with one hand, he swiveled on his foot and spoke,

"There is sometin' harribly wrong with my foot, can't ya tell?"

" And I'm the chancellor for the Queen of England."

Giving me a wry smile, he states snidely,

"On top of political royalty? My, my, someone is aimin' high."

Shooting him with daggers of hatred, I set my jaw, refusing to reply. I hated when he brought up my _previous _status, and therefore my father. Fixing my scarf, I tried to ignore Spot's annoyed look; _serves you right you butt-monkey._ My mouth twisted into a goofy smile, one that made me so ashamed, that I tried to suppress it. _Great, now Spot probably thinks I'm crazy._ My face red from embarrassment, that was probably all in my head, I trudged on slowly. Bumping into Spot only made me blush more, to which he raised an eyebrow and stated,

"We're heah."

Opening the door, the first thing I noticed was that it was well oiled; the next was that almost every newsie in the theater turned to look at Spot. Suddenly feeling small and insignificant, I started to turn back out the way I came. But the slightest prod of a cane forced me forward. Pouting childishly, I glared at a point on the horizon. Spot guided me towards a group of newsies who I didn't recognize. Zoning out of their conversation, I left my mind to wander.

It almost seemed ethereal, how everyone was laughing and drinking booze. _How could people so troubled be so cheery? Did they forget that nearly everyone hates them and calls them street rats?_ Even Spot seemed to be having a merry time. Curiosity clouded my mind; what were they talking about. Seeing as they were boys, never the less newsies, I guessed they were talking about girls. _Is he talking about me?_

No doubt the King of New York wished to brag about how he had the ambassador's daughter working for him. Fury kicked out Judgement and wreaked havoc over my mind. _Am I just here so Spot can show off his "trophy"? _That's why their laughing; taunting me, cackling over how Spot had tamed the exotic beast. The laughing, the drinking... it was going to my head.

_Need to...get...OUT!_

Pushing past newsies without an apology, my feet led me to a window. Pushing the window up, I put on foot after the other out. Dropping, I landed on the fire escape. The cold air was exactly what I needed to calm down. Gripping the railing of fire escape, I leaned over the side. Closing my eyes, I tried took deep breathes; _What's wrong with me? _

"Bittahsweet?"

Flipping around, I could see Spot coming towards the window. My eyebrows raised in surprise, I almost considered playing possum. But my instincts kicked in, pushing me to rush down the flights of stairs. I could already hear Spot on my tail, which lead me to stop for a second. _I only have one more flight of stairs to go. _Keeping that in mind, I swung my body onto the railing. Praying that I wouldn't die, I slid down the railing.

Keeping my eyes open, I timed my jump so that I wouldn't fall flat on my face. Landing on my feet unsteadily, it took me a couple of seconds to regain my standing. In a flash I was sprinting out of the alley, narrowly missing a carriage. Ducking into an alley, I hid in the shadows. Spot left after a while, leaving me to let out a breathe I hadn't known I was holding. _Wait, what am I doing?_

"Bittersweet?"

A shudder racked my body, _how did he get behind me so fast? _Slowly turning, I closed my mouth and prayed that he wouldn't be horribly mad with me. Instead of Spot being though, there was another newsie. It was dark out, so I just assumed it was Racetrack. Taking a step towards him, I recoiled back at the sight of his face.

_It's Feral!_

Just as I was about to run away from him, he lashed out and grabbed my wrist. Biting back a yelp, I gave him a sheepish smile and hesitantly questioned,

"You out for a smoke?"

Giving me the wolfish grin that haunted my nightmares, I gave up all attempts at pretending I didn't know why he was here. I put as much distance between as I could with him still holding my wrists. My mind instantly flashed back to an old memory of me and my brother as children; running around in a circle with fingers linked together. Of course, that was nothing like the situation at hand, but my mind tends to run astray.

"Please, please. You just got here; why don't we catch up?"

Swinging me into the wall, Feral harshly pushed me to the ground. Crouching so that he was level with me, he questioned,

"Any news on Spot Conlon?"

Looking away from his burrowing eyes, I replied calmly,

"Nothing. He just got back from Manhattan."

"Bull. He's in Manhattan right now."

Snorting, I retorted derisively,

"Yeah, well Kelly decided he should come over for a party."

Frowning, he slapped me across the face. Spitting to the side, I barely noticed the foreign red in my saliva. My cheek stung, and my ego was bruised; _No more rude comments. Got it._ Feral just repeated, pretending that he didn't even slap me,

"Any news on Spot Conlon?"

Put down from his blow, I lowered my eyes and answered,

"No."

Flashing me another grin, he offered,

"He needs to open up to you. So try getting in his pants."

Making a disgusted face, I ignored his comment. Although he did have a point; Spot wasn't talking about the other newsies because he wasn't around me often. As much as I disliked the idea, I had to be nice to Spot; even if that means being loyal to him. _But wait...He did tell me something about the newsies..._

"Spot left about a week ago to Manhattan, on business,"

Feral frowned, upset that that was all. So ad-libing, I added hastily,

"To talk about Queens. Brooklyn's thinking of war, and trying to recruit Manhattan."

Feral looked away thoughtfully, murmuring to himself,

"So Spot came here to keep Manhattan happy; that way they would help..."

Turning his attention back to me, he stated,

"Thanks, doll."

...And was gone just like that.


	22. Best Kept Secrets

**Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. Any views portrayed in this fanfiction are tailored to fit the stories plot and the character's depth. The OC's are not a result of an actual person and are only made as a result of my subtle desires and writing whimsy.**

* * *

><p>Although I was shaken from my encounter with Feral, I still ended up climbing up the fire escape with my hand huddling my face. My clothes were dirtied after sitting on the ground for so long and had sufficiently been torn around the edges due to being caught on the stairs multiple times. My feet ached, albeit less than my face, and refused to carry me farther than the hallway next to the window.<p>

Slouching against the moldy wood, I tried not to breathe in the spores and ignored the loud shouts. Somewhere in the main room a skilled mouth was playing off a trill of _Amazing Grace_, on what sounded like the harmonica. A grunt soon followed and the music stopped. But it started up again, with loud blows that sounded like wheezes and notes that seemed to range from the sky to the ground. After a couple of heavy steps, none other than the Brooklyn King came clambering and appeared not to notice me.

He had a bottle of booze in one hand and a harmonica in the other, which he was giving another poor attempt to play. Taking a long swig of the alcohol, he sputtered through the reed chambers, spraying beer all over the walls and ground. With a drunk swagger, he made his way over to me with a goofy smile. He was utterly wasted and I was surprised he could even carry his own weight. His shirt was unbuttoned till just about his navel and his hat was clinging onto his head with all its might. Lipstick stains dotted his cheeks and a kiss mark adorned his neck while a light blush was in affect on his cheeks.

All in all, he was utterly wasted and I was fairly surprised he could even carry his own weight.

Driven away from the repugnant smell of alcohol, I made for the main room. The moment I moved though, Spot's eyes locked onto me with an alertness not heard of in those of have drunk their fill. Letting the bottle roll on the floor dejectedly, he pursued my fleeing form. Not wishing to run yet again, I stood next to the window and waited quietly.

The rank smell of his breathe was clear as day when he leaned into my face, placing a hand on one side of me and on the window sill for support. Letting go of the harmonica, he cuddled my face with the hand not currently occupying the wall. Beyond confused, I was about to question his actions when his lips slammed onto mine. His chapped lips led mine into a crazed dance, thirsty for passion. His neediness and want was new, different from the first time he had kissed me.

Leaving my hot face behind, his lips ventured towards my neck. Sucking hard and nibbling softly, i could feel Spot form a twin for his kiss mark on my neck. Grabbing his shoulders to push him off, Spot mistaked this touch as a signal to move closer. Grabbing my waist he once again kissed me, this time forcing his tongue through my teeth and into my mouth. Gagging from the flavor of booze, I continued to struggle against him. Then I remembered what Feral had told me; _maybe sleeping with Spot is the only way to get him to speak freely_. It disgusted me that I would even consider the possibility.

Then there was that voice nagging in the back of my mind, the one that went against all sane judgement; _Would it really be all that bad?_

Tentatively, I allowed my own tongue to enter his mouth and return the kiss. Although foreign, the feeling wasn't entirely _unpleasant_. His tongue soon touched mine and engaged in a heated fight for my mouth. Giving in, I let out a soft mewl. In return Spot moaned, and to my alarm,

"_Sarah..."_

With that Spot pulled away, swiftly emptied out his bowels all over the floor and passed out.

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><p><strong>A.N: Sorry I hadn't posted anything new for like three months, but I hope you guys like the new chapter. And no, the name of this particular "goil" that Conlon said is not a coincidence! Enjoy the twist! Maybe you'll read my summary again and wonder whose actually going to be fighting against each other.<strong>

**And to my dedicated readers, I will most likely be posting again today.**


	23. Words Outspoken

**Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. Any views portrayed in this fanfiction are tailored to fit the stories plot and the character's depth. The OC's are not a result of an actual person and are only made as a result of my subtle desires and writing whimsy.**

* * *

><p>Right now I had to strong urge to defenestration someone. Specifically a two-timing newsies king; <em>and yes, I'm aware we were never exclusive.<em> After fetching a dejected Racetrack to help me pick him up, we had to drag him back to Brooklyn. Ever so often he would rustle and we would stand dead-still, until he said 'dumb broad' and went back into a alcohol induced coma. If there was ever a time that I blushed during that trip it was when he licked his lips the second time he spoke. That soon passed when his face noticeably grimaced, which lead to me gripping his forearm harder. Once in a while, Racetrack would look at me, which caused him to smile for some odd reason.

When we finally reached the boarding house, Racetrack asked for his harmonica back. I had deduced before that Spot had stolen his harmonica to play on, evident from the bruise adorning his usually jovial face. I could it took all his will power not to pummel Conlon into a bloody mess when he saw how his harmonica was dripping with spittle and alcohol. After all, if he did attack Spot in his weakened state, he would have all of Brooklyn as his enemy; and Spot would end up saying that he beat the Manhattan newsie without being somber. _And God knows that only he could pull that off. _

I thanked Racetrack for helping me, offering a bunk that he could rest the night in. But the Italian paper peddler declined, for good reason. He had 'accidently' dragged Spot's feet up the staircase, probably leaving horizontal bruises. Not to mention how when we tried to get him into bed, he 'accidently' dropped his head on the floor. I wouldn't want to sleep under this roof for long either, not that I had much choice. Wishing him safe travel, I asked one of the newsies still awake to escort him out. After some bribing and the promise of a home cooked breakfast, I was left to my own thoughts.

Wandering to his room and sitting on the edge of his bed, I watched Spot intently. This could have been a magical moment, and he might have looked cute. If not for the drool escaping his mouth and the alcohol stain on his shirt. Burrowing my face in my hands, I looked at him through the cracks in my fingers. What was wrong with him... what was worse with him tonight?

In all of my time under Spot's charge, I was never more confused. Maybe it was the fact that he could only muster up the courage to kiss me while under the influence, or that he made my stomach churn in a rather pleasing way, _very different from how he usually made my stomach churn_, but if I had to guess it was the fact he said another girl's name. And even more queer was that I had never even heard of this Sarah-girl. After countless tales of his beautiful conquests, I could list all of the girls he had been with. He never even mentioned a Sarah, and I held doubt that he would even remember her well enough in his drunken state to mutter her name. That could only mean one thing...

No... It couldn't be...

Spot... having an _unrequited _love?

That made me even more curious who this dazzling damsel was, the girl that had ensnared the heart of the Brooklyn bad boy. It left me feeling a little bit unhappy, knowing that he had chosen not to tell me. Wait... he said her name while kissing _me_. That must mean he had this deranged fantasy that I was her... he must be head over heels for her. That would explain how he has one meaningless and hollow sexual relationship after the other. I was in the right mind to squeal because of how much this sounded like a romance novel.

This girl must be something else, is Spot Conlon wanted her. I mean, he could simply give a dashing smirk in one direction and girls would be jumping in his bed. So what makes her different from all the other girls in New York? She would have to be a dazzling beauty, one with generous curves and golden locks that reached mid-back. No matter how many times I imagined her, I couldn't stop picturing her with an ugly face... I suppose that was due to my anger at Conlon directing at her. And the fact that I couldn't see someone like Conlon with a beautiful girl... from the face up, because when it comes to relationships, that's all he cares about.

Uh... there is no way that I just described _Conlon_ as some sort of sex god. But how would I know? As Spot would say, 'You'd never got any'. Maybe I was being unfair, and even someone as irritating as Spot deserved a happy ending. All this thinking was making me even more fuzzy on the whole issue. I would do better to hear about it from Spot later.

* * *

><p>"Uh... damn hangovers..."<p>

_Crap!_ Rolling under his bed to avoid being caught, I held my breathe. If only I hadn't fell asleep; but it wasn't my fault, it was a long night. Breathing through my teeth, my teeth went number and dust bunnies traveled closer. I was about to scream when I felt something touch my foot. Biting the inside of my cheeks to prevent from letting any noise out, I waited till Spot entered his private bathroom. Snatching whatever had touched my leg, I was disgusted to find it was a bra. Tucking into my shirt for safe keeping as a means of blackmail, I rolled out from under the bed.

Rushing out of his room, I went down stairs. Slamming my door shut, I tried to look busy. Smoothing out my rumpled skirt and rolling my aching shoulders, a result of sleeping on the floor. Quick on my feet, I whipped out a tea kettle and started to boil some water. Grabbing a moldy lemon from the cupboard, I cut around the fungus. Pouring the hot water, I squeezed the lemon into it. About to exit the kitchen, I removed the bra from my possesion and unceremoniously shoved it into my bag.

Opening the door, I pretended to be surprised when I saw Spot coming down the stairs disoriented. Handing him the cup, he smelled it and then dropped it. Enraged, I spit venom,

"What's wrong with you?"

"Besides da fact I can't 'member what I'se did last night, or dat I'se gotta nasty headache ? Nuthin'."

Stunned, I watched him go lie down on the beaten up couch. It inflamed my already angry heart to know that Spot didn't even remember getting all over me. _I was not just some girl! _Wait, why do I care? It's not like it would have meant anything. Still, I wanted to get some answers from him. Hesitantly walking over, I informed Spot,

"Race helped me bring you over."

Spot looked up at me for a second, before deciding that it was too much strain on his neck. An uncomfortable silence followed, in which he rubbed his head. Fiddling with my skirt, I wondered whether or not to clean up the glass. My hands left the soft fabric and went to the back of my neck, which I rubbed nervously. Spot got up slowly, a slight limp most likely cause by his bruises, and walked over to me. Standing in front of me, he removed my hand from my neck. Giving me a lewd smirk, stated more than asked,

"Got lucky, huh?"

Blushing, I made to cover the hickey that blemished my skin. _That's why Race kept making that weird smile!_ But Spot teasingly slapped my hand away, and wagged a finger at me.

"There's nuthin' ta be ashamed of. 'Though, I always t'aught I'd be yoah fiost."

Turning a deeper crimson, I didn't pipe up that I didn't get laid and it was _indeed _him that would have been my 'first'. I tried to get him to calm down, by shushing him. Instead he said rather loudly in a sing-song voice,

"This boardin' house is now virgin free! Drinks on da house!"

Dryly, I stated,

"We all remember what happened the last time someone said that."

But he just wouldn't stop, and the newsies begun to rustle. I couldn't help what slipped my mouth, all subtlety went out the door when I said it.

"Who is Sarah?

Spot immediately stopped speaking. His eyes darkened and for the first time since we started talking, he acted like he had a hang-over. Eyes narrowing so much that if they did anymore, his eyebrows would touch his nose, he said quietly,

"What?"

Grabbing my collar, he slammed me into the wall next to the couch. My breathe lost, I couldn't respond. After harshly being thrown against the wall my back complained loudly, sending waves of pain up and down. Since I hadn't given a suitable answer to Conlon's question, he repeated dangerously loud,

"What da _hell_ did'ya say?"

If I wasn't already in between a rock and a hard place, I would have replied sarcastically, 'I heard you perfectly fine, I'm not deaf.' Instead I settled with a wheezing noise. Spot looked absolutely livid, as rabid as a lion. I half expected him to rip out my larynx; but the violent thought only brought a blush to my cheeks when I thought about the mark he left on my neck. After regaining my breathe, I replied,

"Sarah. Who is she? I've never heard about her befor-ugh!"

Spot cut my off with a vice grip to my neck, causing me to gasp once more.

"You'se don't _need _tah know 'bout her."

Clawing at his arm, I tried to get him to relent before he caused permanent damage. _Why is he doing this? Is it really such a sensitive topic... _I couldn't think much more because of oxegon deprivation. Finally he released me, allowing me grasp my chest in an effort to restore circulization. Thankfully, it felt like there wasn't going to be any bruises. Spot asserted, after deciding that I was too intimidated to pursue that line of questioning again,

"You'se shouldn't be concernin' yoahself wit my life,"

Twirling a lock of my hair, his sadistic smile sent shivers down my bruised spine. The dark atmosphere was only increased by the sheer gap of height between us, causing him to literally tower over me. Letting go of my hair, he moved to pet my neck. Stroking the mark he made on my skin softly, he continued,

"But, I'd love ta know where you'se got t'is lovely piece a'work."

Turning my head the other way, I screwed my eye shut and willed him to leave. _Hold it... that isn't fair!_ Barely audible, I asked with my face to the side,

"That's bull. How come you get to ask all the questions?"

Spot looked surprised for a moment before falling back into the groove. Even though he had a slight teasing tone, I could tell it was strained.

"I'se think...you'se need ta shut yoah mouth."

Spot descended on me, forcing my to be silent by covering my mouth with his. It was just like the night before, except this time I was much more against it. Fighting his need, I pushed on his chest trying to keep him off. _What had happened to those newsies that were supposed to be rising? Do none of them work?_ Finding no other way to get his passionate lips off mine, I bit down. Retracting his mouth, I wiped my mouth of his blood. Spot simply spit on the ground away from us. The metallic taste still in my mouth, I stared angrily at Conlon.

With a flick of his wrist, he backhanded me, hissing,

"Bitch!"

I couldn't help but notice that now Spot and Feral had one more thing in common. My blood mixed with his like our saliva once did, causing me to grimace from the stinging blow as well as at the thought. Unhappy and fueled by anger, I ranted,

"What? Should I just stand here and take it like one? I'm not going to let you just use me again to get rid of _your_ sexual frustrations!"

Spot was fully confused now, and reiterated,

"_Again?_"

Eyes ablaze, I stood my ground and shook my head yes. Spot held a hand to his head and pounded, as if to regain his memory. Turning back to me, he put his arms parallel to each other on either side of me.

"I knew it. Only way foah Bittahsweet tah get action is from a drunk. So, how much did he tell ya?"

Now it was my turn to look confused and wonder what he meant.

"Excuse me?"

Frustrated, he responded,

"Jacky boy. What'd he say 'bout his girl."

My jaw dropped open and I looked at him in shock. He thought that the Manhattan leader hit on me, thinking I was _his girl friend_? Sputtering in disbelief, I told him straight,

"Cowboy _wasn't_ the one who told me about her. _You_ were, you _drunk ass_!"

I didn't wait for him to even protest, and continued my nag,

"While you were drunk out of your mind, you decided to _give me some action_ and while we were in _throes of passion_ you said her name."

"Shut up. Like I'se would even t'ink 'bout touchin'_ you_! So stop feedin' me crap an' _fess up_."

"You think I'm lying? Where do you think I got _this_?"

I craned my neck to reveal the kiss mark he left, before pulling down the collar of his shirt to reveal it's duplicate. It wasn't enough that he didn't believe me, but he accused someone that wasn't involved of being the one of doing it. _Wait... Jack's girl?_ Quietly, I asked,

"Your in love with someone else's girl? And another leader's, at that?"

Shoving me back against the wall, I retaliated and sucker punched him. Unfortunately, I was horribly out of practice and only succeeded in making him angrier. Hearing the boys start to come down the stairs, he said forcibly,

"We'll talk about _this_ latah."

If Spot wasn't willing to risk this confrontation in front of his newsies, then he had proved my accusation correct. It didn't make me happy to know that I was right, only on edge. Rubbing my throat, I wondered silently,

_Why does my neck seem to be an object of interest nowadays?_

* * *

><p><strong>A.N: I hope you like the update! <strong>


	24. Favors

**And, I'm back! It's been quite a long time, and I apologize for not updating often. Now, forgoing excuses, I have some fun things to tell you guys! Not only will I be regularly updating this fic, (as in weekly instead of yearly!), but I will also be going back and editing it! I also plan to make this available on archiveofourown, for those of you who prefer epub or mobi reading, and tumblr! I will also be making a name change, to fairlies. I'm really excited to get back to working on this project, and hope you guys like tonight's update. It's short, but I consider it a warm up for getting to know my characters all over again. Please check out .com for all of the chapters and read at your leisure! I'll link you guys to the archiveofourown story when I get my account approved (they've recently closed their sign ups) and I'll tell you when chapter's get edited. **

**Okay, after that long Author's Note, here's the disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, Disney owns them. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Conlon was avoiding me.<p>

It was childish and dumb of him, to give me the cold shoulder in such a way. Whenever I glanced his way during dinner, he would swiftly preoccupy himself with something in a different direction. It was obvoius, and the bastard wasn't even trying to hide it. I wasn't going to pretend it hurt my feelings; Conlon had been an asshole to me. But it did leave me little chance to question him about Sarah. How could I when the little rat could barely even look me in the eye?

But how could I bring myself to ask him more? My fingers brushed my neck as I remembered how horrible he had reacted when I had said Sarah's name. I had never seen him that angry...not even when Feral had kidnapped me. Not that that made me feel jealous or anything. But it was curious. How did Conlon even fall in love that lady? He knew that if he made a move against Jack's girl, then she would tell Jack. And who knows how the leader would react to such a thing. Probably like Conlon had acted when I mentioned the girl. But what seems wilder to me is that Conlon managed to keep his infatuation a secret for so long, especially when he visited Manhattan so often. How could he look Jack in the eyes while he coveted his girl?

Since Conlon was going to talk, I needed to find another informant. I wouldn't go directly to Jack and tell him about Conlon's crush, at least not yet. That might be important leverage later. So instead I had to look for someone who knows Conlon and might know Sarah...What about Racetrack? He spent an awful lot of time around Brooklyn for a Manhattan newsie. He had to know Spot well enough to do that; Conlon didn't like anyone other than his newsies working in Brooklyn. Plus he wouldn't have a reason to tell Jack about Sarah, especially since I could hold Conlon's trip up the stairs over him. Or threaten to liqour Conlon up and give him Racetrack's harmonica again. Now _that _would certainly keep him tight-lipped. But where would he be at this time?

I was knocked rather rudely out of my thoughts by a pebble to the forehead. My hands went up to shield my face and I glared down at the perpetrator. _It was the little boy that had opened the door for me while it was raining! _Realizing that an oppurtunity was at hand, I stood up from the pier and approached the young boy. He looked like he was about to wet his pants, probably afraid of Conlon's wrath, and was rattling off excuses as I approached him,

"I-I'se was just aiming fo' the bottles, I swear's! I din't mean to hit you'se!"

I tried to give him a warm smile to lull him into a state of false-security before I went in for the kill, but he must have noticed my predator eyes and gotten even more fidgety. I decided to discard all pretenses and commanded him,

"Don't worry about it."

My stern attitude must have reminded him of Spot (the resident papa bear), because he instantly felt better and started to walk away. I was irked at having lost his attention, but acted quickly to regain it,

"Buuuut, I need a favor."

The boy turned around to face me again, his eyebrow cocked in an unsure way. It irritated me because he no longer saw me as a threat, and was treating me like Conlon had told his boys too. Without much thought, that is.

"Spot said nobodys could tahk to ya's."

I frowned. Spot was still getting in the way of my plans, even without him here. But I perserverd and said, with a little smugness,

"Yeah, well he probably didn't want you to hit me either."

The boy whined,

"You'se told me to fohge' about it!"

I stuck my tongue out at him and replied,

"Yeah? Well I changed my mind!"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and shrugged his shoulders high in frustration. His eyebrows furrowed in the most adorable way, and I resisted the urge to rustle his hair. This became harder as he pushed out his lower lip and pouted, and this kid was a _professional_ at pouting. His voice, which was relaxingly high after listening to nothing but Spot's baritone, squeaked out,

"Fin' den. Whaddaya's want?"

I stuck out my hand and said,

"Well, first off, I'm Bittersweet."

He spit in his hand and placed it in mind, his little fingers squeezing in an attempt to emulate masculinity. I resisted the urge to crush his hand with mine, forcing a smile at his obnoxious behavior instead. He grumbled back, in a way that suggested that he was everything but pleased,

"Name's Rubber. Pleas'd ta meet ya."

Smiling a private smile, which probably made me look crazed, I leaned in and started to whisper to in his ear.

"Well, Rubber, have I got a job for you..."


End file.
